The Bravest Man She Ever Knew
by Eve06
Summary: HBP-compliant (to some extent). The Golden Trio have been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix subsequent to the events at the Ministry. However, as well as this additional responsibility, the three students must take their future careers into account and Hermione opts for a career in Potions.
1. Chapter One

Her eyelids slowly peeled open to reveal the blurred, but unmistakable face of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was peering anxiously at her over the tip of his wand. As Hermione's vision adjusted to the harsh glow emitting from the Auror's wand, a blast of purple flame flashed in her mind's eye and a burning, agonising pain streaked across her ribs.

Her screams echoed off of the walls as she clutched at her chest.

'Hermione!' cried Kingsley. The Auror crouched down next to her and gently pried her hands away from the wound. With every breath she took, the wound on her chest burned white-hot and Hermione could barely breathe without crying out in agony.

She wrenched her eyes away from the burning scar on her chest and tried to focus on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his expression was set with concentration as he pointed the tip of his wand at her chest. He was chanting an incoherent spell that sounded like a gentle rumble of thunder in his deep baritone voice.

Several moments passed before he finally ceased his chanting and slid his wand up the left sleeve of his robes.

'How do you feel now?'

The pain in her chest had lessened slightly and Hermione nodded gently in response. Slowly, she raised her head off of the hard ground and cupped the back of her head with her hand. She could recall the heat of the sun, the crisp parchment of the History of Magic O.W.L. exam and eighteenth century goblin riots. But none of this explained why she was lying in agony on a cold, stone floor.

Then, it hit her.

__Voldemort's got Sirius__.

Fragments of memories began to piece together in her mind: Harry's voice…speeding through the night on an invisible horse…the dark halls of the Ministry of Magic…the sound of rushing water from the fountain in the Atrium…shelves of dusty, luminous bulbs…dark, foreboding silhouettes…the piercing sound of merciless laughter…Death Eaters.

The face of one Death Eater, in particular, swam to the forefront of her mind. Antonin Dolohov's gnarled face appeared so clearly that it was almost as if he were standing right in front of her. The flash of purple light that had burst from his wand reappeared in her mind's eye. Another streak of scorching pain seared across her chest and Hermione blanched, grasping the arm that Kingsley held out to her. The effect of his spell had vanished entirely and Hermione closed her eyes, trying to resist against the blinding pain.

But the imminent questions that pressed upon her mind suddenly pushed their way through the agony that bloomed in her chest:

__Where were the Death Eaters? What had become of the prophecy? What had happened to the others? Had the Order arrived at the Ministry in time?__

The physical pain that she felt seemed to intensify as she thought of her friends.

'The others,' she croaked hoarsely, opening her eyes to look at Kingsley. 'Are they –'

The silence that followed her unfinished question did nothing to ease her anxiety and Kingsley avoided her gaze as he helped her to her feet. Hermione's teeth began to chatter and a penetrating cold stole over her body as pain and dread gripped her with equal ferocity.

As she processed her surroundings, Hermione saw that they were standing in a cold, dark room, surrounded by tiered, stone benches. It was one of the first rooms that they had searched upon their arrival at the Ministry. Her eyes landed on the stone arch that had so fascinated Harry and Luna. For some inexplicable reason she turned away, unable to bear the mere sight of the old arch.

Hermione jumped violently as she heard the sudden sound of footsteps and a wizard, whom she recognised as Mad-Eye Moody, limped over to where she stood. She turned her head in all directions but, in the poor light, her eyes could only distinguish Kingsley and Moody.

'Who –' she began softly as her body began to shake in fearful anticipation.

Moody's normal eye was looking at her face, whilst his magical eye fixed upon a spot in the darkness that surrounded them. Despite his mutilated features, Hermione noticed the sorrow etched on his face. Her eyes flickered to Kingsley and she saw that his expression mirrored that of Moody.

'Sirius,' grunted Moody, shoving his hands into the pockets of his thick, travelling cloak. 'Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Hermione's face turned white and she looked up at him in shock.

'Sirius – But, how? He wasn't here! The Death Eaters…they said…they said they had tricked Harry to – to get him here.'

'When he heard you were all here, there was no stopping him from coming with us,' explained Kingsley.

Hermione's breathing became heavy and laboured as her mind processed the news. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth, not knowing whether she was going to cry, scream or retch. The pain from the curse was merely a dull ache in comparison to the grief that was welling within her. She opened her mouth to ask for more but, before her lips could form the words, Moody spoke:

'Tonks was hit…but she's alive and resting in St. Mungo's as we speak. Miss Weasley obtained a broken ankle. Her brother was hit by a curse and attacked by brains with tentacles, according to Miss Lovegood…there are marks on his arms, but he seems OK and Harry –'

'Not now, Mad-Eye,' murmured Kingsley, looking worriedly at Hermione, who had turned even paler.

'And Harry?' she pressed on, her voice barely more than a whisper, swallowing the bile that was threatening to rise in her throat.

'He's…he's alright. He's with Dumbledore,' said Kingsley, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

At his words, Hermione saw Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville appear out of the darkness, followed by Remus Lupin. The tears began to flow thick and fast down her face at the sight of them. She scrutinised her friends with greedy eyes; they all bore the same haggard and weary expression and Ginny was being supported by Luna.

But, they were alive.

'Mad-Eye, we have to get out of here,' murmured Lupin, who was pale-faced and bearing a nasty cut on his cheekbone. 'We need to get them back to the hospital wing at Hogwarts.'

They exited through the Atrium, which was no longer the beautiful hall where they had first arrived. The golden statues that had stood in the middle of the circular pond were shattered and their broken fragments lay scattered along the polished, dark wood floor.

Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Hermione looked as if they had aged by decades as the first signs of dawn threw their faces into sharp relief.

'How are we getting back?' asked Luna as she stepped out of the graffitied telephone box. 'I can't see our Thestrals.'

'Side-Along Apparition,' said Moody shortly. 'Remus, you take Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley…Kingsley, you take Miss Granger. Boys, you're both with me.'

The teenagers each stood next to their assigned partner.

'On the count of three,' said Moody, holding out his arms to Neville and Ron. 'One…two…three!'

* * *

><p>Madam Pomfrey was pacing anxiously in the Entrance Hall, wringing her hands together, as they traipsed through the heavy oak doors.<p>

'What – what happened?' she whispered aghast, her eyes examining the five battle-scarred teenagers accompanied by the Order members. 'Albus just told me that something like this would happen, I –'

'Poppy, these students need immediate medical attention,' said Lupin firmly, cutting through her.

She nodded shakily and assumed an air of forced composure, turning her gaze towards him. Her trembling fingers straightened her cap, which had slipped sideways during her agitation.

'Right,' she breathed. 'We'll need Severus. I'll go and fetch him, shall I?'

''S not necessary,' grunted Moody as he rummaged in his pocket and withdrew his wand. A burst of silver light erupted from the tip of Moody's wand and an undistinguishable Patronus streaked down the corridor out of sight.

'Follow me,' said Madam Pomfrey.

They trudged towards the hospital wing, their footsteps echoing through the empty halls.

As Hermione sat down on the soft mattress, she felt all her emotions and memories collapse on top of her.

The loss of Sirius, the hours of fighting and the fear she had felt for the lives of her friends hit her with the force of a hundred curses.

Her head felt heavy as she tilted her neck backwards and allowed the physical pain in her chest, as well as the pain in her heart, to consume her. She let the tears pour freely from under her raw eyelids. Her cries came in shuddering gasps that shook her entire body. With every breath, she swallowed the urge to retch and gag as the bile that bubbled in her stomach threatened to boil over.

She was so overwhelmed that she did not recognise the tall silhouette of the Potions Master looming over her. In his hands, he held a small pewter cauldron full of Dreamless Sleep potion.

'Drink,' he commanded, ignoring the emotion spilling out of her.

Parting her lips, Hermione allowed him to pour a spoonful of the potion into her mouth. As the warm liquid trickled down her throat, the desire to sleep took over and she stretched out onto the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Only hours later, the sound of whispering voices roused her from her sleep and Hermione opened her eyes blearily to see the Order members and Madam Pomfrey huddled around Ron's bed.

'Ron!' she gasped as she struggled out of the clutches of the soft, enveloping mattress and stumbled over to join the group. She ignored the pain that burned in her chest with every movement as her eyes flickered over the worried expressions on their faces.

On the bedside table, several phials of different potions were laid out in a line. Professor Snape stood at the side of Ron's bed with an empty flask in one hand and his wand in the other. His attention was focused on Ron, scrutinising his face through narrowed eyes.

Ron's face was pure white, even his lips had turned the colour of snow. But it was not his pallor that was unsettling: it was the stillness of his body as he lay as rigid and as frozen as a corpse.

'What's happening?' croaked Hermione. Remus turned to look at her. His eyebrows were furrowed together. The brown hairs were threaded with grey and, as she looked at the deep lines engraved into his forehead, Hermione could have mistaken him for an old man.

'We don't know. He got into bed and then, next minute, he – his body went rigid and Poppy couldn't find his pulse –'

Hermione's felt her throat constrict. She inhaled shakily as her eyes followed Snape's hand, which curled around the last potion in line, and prayed that it would revive Ron.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as Snape tipped the final phial down Ron's throat.

Several seconds passed.

A minute went by and, yet, Ron did not move. Three minutes passed.

Snape made a strange sound between a murmur and a groan.

_'Surely the potion should have worked by now', Hermione thought desperately._

After a whole ten minutes had gone by, Madam Pomfrey raised her hand to her mouth.

'Oh, no,' she murmured softly behind her hand. Her pale, stricken face shone in the darkness.

Comprehension dawned on Hermione with alarming speed.

The roar of rushing water filled her ears and a crushing sensation collapsed upon her, suffocating her, as she stared at Ron's lifeless body.

Vomit filled the back of her mouth and she stumbled backwards, clutching a bed frame for support. Her face screwed up but no noise or tears came out. A monster erupted in her stomach, roaring and tearing at her insides. The pain in her chest had subsided entirely to make way for the agony that was burned and boiled in her stomach.

Her breath came out in sharp, painful gasps. Someone was holding her up, but Hermione lurched forward out of their grasp. She wanted to hug him…to hit him…to bring him back to life. She could bring him back…He __couldn't__ be dead.

She tried to wrestle out of Remus' grip, struggling to reach Ron's side.

'Wait…wait!' murmured Remus in a hushed voice.

Hermione raised her head to see Professor Snape lift the back of Ron's head from the pillow.

Suddenly, and almost imperceptibly, Ron's lips twitched.

'He moved,' whispered Remus incredulously.

'Quiet, Lupin,' muttered Snape. His hair fell in thick black curtains as he examined Ron closely.

The group stood and watched with bated breath, waiting for another sign of life.

Another minute passed and Hermione's heart sank.

But, slowly, Ron's eyes began to flicker open.

His pale lips parted and he began to breathe again. His breaths were shaky, but his eyes had fully opened and he was looking around at all of them.

'M'alright,' he mumbled weakly.

Snape removed his hand from behind Ron's head and stepped away from him. Hermione saw him exhale slightly as he did so.

'Mr Weasley is no longer in danger,' announced Snape.

There was a collective exhalation of relief. Hermione gasped and wiped the tears streaming down her face from her eyes.

'Thank you, Severus!' exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. 'I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been here.'

The crowd nodded solemnly in agreement. The moment of grief had rendered everybody incapable of speaking. Snape took no notice, concentrating on vanishing all of the empty potion phials with his wand. He straightened up to look at them as he slid his wand up his sleeve, out of sight.

'Now, if my assistance is no longer required, I shall return to the dungeons. Good night.'

They all watched his back as he headed towards the doors of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey turned away slowly, shaking her head wearily, before her eyes clapped upon Hermione as if seeing her for the first time.

'Miss Granger, what are you doing out of bed?'

But, before Hermione could answer, Madam Pomfrey was chasing her towards the bed that she had just vacated. Madam Pomfrey brandished a spoon at her and, once again, Hermione sank into a dreamless sleep.

Sunlight was peeping through the gaps in the curtains when Hermione awoke later that day. Groggily, she became aware of the sound of the same muted voices that had woken her several hours before.

'He wouldn't have made it if it were not for Severus,' said Kingsley gravely.

She opened one eye to see Remus, Mad-Eye and Kingsley facing the Headmaster as they stood in conversation at the foot of Ron's bed.

'Why couldn't Madam Pomfrey fix him?' asked a familiar voice that she recognised as that of Harry. His voice was thick and rough. Hermione's memories began to flow, thick and fast, through her mind. Even in the light of day, the horrors of the previous night were not forgotten. Both the pain and the memories remained raw and fresh. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, focusing on the hum of their voices to block out the sound of her thoughts.

'Professor Snape knows a lot more about healing those cursed by dark magic than Madam Pomfrey,' explained Dumbledore. 'Plus, he can brew antidotes to even the most evil of curses, which is an area that is never fully explored in the Healer training process...Very few seek to explore the world of the dark arts. Or, if they do, they have no interest in antidotes. However, Severus has knowledge of even the darkest of magic, which is what enables him to heal those cursed by it. It is only by understanding these types of magic that it can it stopped.'

'Certainly,' agreed Lupin. 'The Wolfsbane potion is one that very few can brew... or are willing to brew. His skill is exceptional. Hogwarts is lucky to have him.'

Hermione received no visitors over the next few days due to Madam Pomfrey's firm refusal to allow any. For this, Hermione was almost grateful to the stern matron.

Her body and mind ached too much to hear what had happened at the Ministry. Every time she heard approaching footsteps, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Although she tried her best, Hermione could not prevent images from the battle appearing in her mind's eye. She thought of Ron and how he had almost died.

__He wouldn't have made it if it were not for Severus.__

Harry was right; facing the dark arts in real life was so different to classroom situations. There was no way of ensuring everyone's safety, for one thing. Hermione considered how she had been knocked out before the arrival of Voldemort. Her friends could have died and there would have been nothing she could have done to save them.

Hermione awoke drenched in sweat and panting heavily. Even Snape's phials of Dreamless Sleep potion were losing their effectiveness and her sleep was often punctuated by nightmares and vivid moments of panic.

Three days had been and gone and yet Hermione continued to reside under the covers of the hospital wing bed, waking up only to take potions and food. To her deepening anxiety and distress, the pain in her chest had faded only slightly.

On the fourth morning, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Harry's thin frame perched at the bottom of Ron's bed. The two boys were talking in low, quiet voices.

Ron craned his head round Harry to look at her and gave her a wan smile.

'Alright, Hermione?'

Hermione smiled her first smile in days and nodded. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Harry, who met her brown eyes with his own green, blood-shot stare for a brief moment, before dropping his eyes to the floor.

'You were right,' he said flatly, addressing his trainers.

'Harry –' she began weakly.

'You were,' he insisted. 'Voldemort just wanted me to see…'

'But we checked to see if he had gone…Kreacher said…I mean…he told you that Siri – __he__ wasn't home,' Hermione insisted.

Harry said nothing and continued to avoid eye-contact with her.

Hermione opened her mouth but, before she could speak, Ron shook his head slightly.

None of them spoke. None of them knew what to say.

The only sound that filled the hospital wing was the sound of the clock ticking on the wall beside them.

'Thank you,' said Harry, finally. 'For coming with me.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Hermione in exasperation. 'We've told you a thousand times...we're in this together.'

'She's right, mate,' said Ron. 'Until the end...we'll always stick with you.'

Harry nodded and swallowed.

Several more minutes of silence passed. Harry surreptitiously wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

'How's Neville doing?' asked Harry in a quiet voice.

Ron turned to look at the bed next to him where Neville lay fast asleep.

'He's better. Madam Pomfrey's done a really good job. He's shaken up…he's on several potions a day, but he'll get better,' said Ron.

'What happened to him?' asked Hermione anxiously. 'And how's Ginny's ankle? Did anybody hear what happened to Umbridge?'

'She's over there,' said Ron, nodding his head towards a bed at the opposite side of the room, where an undistinguishable lump lay underneath the bed sheets. 'Dumbledore rescued her from the forest.'

The three of them turned to look at Umbridge's bed. Her head was resting on the pillow and her usually neat hair was bedraggled and threaded with twigs and leaves. Hermione found it difficult to feel much sympathy for her.

'And Ginny?'

'Ginny and Luna are both fine,' he replied. 'Madam Pomfrey mended her ankle in a thrice.'

Hermione nodded calmly and, slowly, raised her head to look at both of them. They inhaled deeply; they both knew what her next question would be.

'What happened after I…?'

Her heart raced as they spoke and she felt the adrenaline pumping through her body as if she were there at the Ministry all over again.

She gasped in horror as Ron showed her the marks on his arms, where he had been grabbed by the brains, and when Harry got to the part about Neville being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione began to shiver violently

'D'you want me to stop?' asked Harry anxiously.

'No – no. It's just...so horrible to hear about it...I can only imagine what it must have been like for you lot...to go through that,' she whispered. 'Go on. Tell me what – what happened next?' she asked firmly, trying to control the quavering tone in her voice.

Harry nodded and opened his mouth to continue. He told her about the arrival of the Order members and the fight that broke out. He faltered as he got to the part about Sirius and Bellatrix.

Harry swallowed and opened his mouth.

'And then I chased her back to the Atrium,' he said with an air of forced determination, his knuckles turned white as he gripped the bed frame tightly. 'And then…he was there. Voldemort.'

'You were so brave,' said Hermione gently.

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Hermione exhaled heavily as she absorbed all the information that they had given her. Finally, there was one piece of the puzzle that she could not comprehend.

'Harry, did you find out…what did Dumbledore say about…the prophecy?' she asked tentatively. 'You said it got smashed, but –'

'Ah, good, Miss Granger! You're awake,' announced Madam Pomfrey brusquely as she marched towards her bed. 'I think that's enough chat for now, Mr Potter.'

'Just five more minutes,' begged Hermione, looking beseechingly at the matron.

'Absolutely not,' replied Madam Pomfrey firmly. 'Go on, now, shoo!'

'OK – OK, I'm going…See you later, guys,' muttered Harry. He stood up from Ron's bed and smiled at them both before heading towards the hospital wing doors.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to Hermione's side, pulling out her wand as she walked.

'How are you feeling?'

'I –'

'Understandable,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'You were hit in the chest with a very dark spell. I was told by the others that it was a non-verbal spell so it could have been considerably worse. However, you seem to be on the mend, thanks to Severus. He has been giving you ten phials of different potions every evening…he is brewing another batch for you just now. You might still feel the pain in your ribs but that should pass in time.'

Hermione nodded, feeling slightly more cheerful at the thought that the pain in her chest would not be permanent.

Madam Pomfrey walked away towards Ron's bed and withdrew a bottle of Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction from her apron and handed it to Ron, who took a large swig. His face contorted into disgust as he swallowed the potion.

'Bleh, horrible,' he groaned, handing the bottle back to Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey tutted and rolled her eyes, before strolling over to Professor Umbridge's bed.

'How are you feeling today, Professor?' she asked in a hushed voice. Both Hermione and Ron turned to look at Umbridge.

'Watch this,' muttered Ron to Hermione, out of the corner of his mouth. He started to make soft clip-clopping sounds with his tongue that sounded almost exactly like the patter of hooves. Professor Umbridge sat bolt upright in her bed, turning her head wildly from side to side, looking for the source of the noise. Twigs fell out of her hair and scattered over the floor as she stirred feverishly.

Hermione and Ron stifled giggles as they looked at her frantic expression. Once she started, Hermione found it difficult to stop and, for five minutes, she sat hunched over giggling.

She looked at Ron and Neville lying next to her, once her tears of laughter had subsided, and suddenly it hit her; everything would be OK.

'Oh…I almost forgot, Hermione, you have to see this,' said Ron, nudging a rumpled copy of the Daily Prophet, which lay at the foot of his bed. He reached forward to pick it up and threw it over to her bed.

'I can't __believe__ it,' muttered Hermione angrily. 'After all those articles about Harry being a deluded show-off…'

'I know,' said Ron darkly. 'At least, __she__ – ' he nodded towards Umbridge '– will be gone after this year.'

Hermione's heart felt much lighter that night after she and Ron had spent many hours discussing the incompetency of the Ministry and their High Inquisitor. However, she was keen to leave the hospital wing as she wanted nothing more than to walk about the grounds with Harry and Ron before returning home for the summer holidays. They would not need to speak; there would be time for conversation later, when the memories were not so fresh and their wounds not so raw.

Several more days passed inside the hospital wing and Ron, Hermione and Neville were growing increasingly fed up of being cooped up in bed. Every morning and night, Professor Snape gave them their numerous potions. Ron, Hermione and Neville were all very eager for their wounds to heal so they could stop taking the foul potions and leave the hospital wing.

'Thank you, Severus,' said Madam Pomfrey one morning as she poured each phial individually down Hermione's throat. 'Nasty business,' she murmured as Hermione's face creased in revulsion at the taste of the potion.

Along with the disadvantage of being resigned to their beds, Madam Pomfrey had limited visiting times to one hour a day only, making life in the hospital wing exceedingly dull. Fortunately, they were visited by Harry and Ginny every day, who came bearing armfuls of Chocolate Frogs sent by Fred and George Weasley.

That particular afternoon, Luna Lovegood followed Harry and Ginny to the hospital wing to visit Hermione, Ron and Neville. She perched herself on a hard-backed chair next to Neville's bed, reading the latest edition of __The Quibbler__ upside-down.

Suddenly, as Neville and Ron were sitting up in bed, talking animatedly to Harry, the doors of the hospital wing burst open with a loud bang.

A horde of Ministry wizards and employees from the Daily Prophet came storming through the open doors. Flashes of light erupted all around the room. But they were not from wands – as Hermione had initially thought – but from large cameras.

The students blinked at the ear-splitting noise and flashes of glaring light. Alarmed by the sudden racket and stampede, Madam Pomfrey came running out of her office.

'This is a __hospital wing__!' she cried, scandalised. 'What are you all doing here? I am sure the Headmaster did not authorise this!'

Behind the horde of witches and wizards, tiny Professor Flitwick came scurrying towards her.

'Poppy!' he panted. 'I couldn't stop them! Dumbledore's in a meeting with Fudge and with Minerva in St. Mungo's – they just barged right in – I – they said they want to talk to Harry Potter!'

The crowd erupted as they huddled around the six teenagers, shoving each other to get closer to Harry. Amongst the crowd, Harry recognised the paunchy wizard who took the photos for the Triwizard Tournament.

'Potter!'

'POTTER!'

'How does it feel now that the whole wizarding world knows that you've been right about You-Know-Who all along?'

'Harry! Over here, Harry! Look over here!'

'Give us a nice, big smile, Harry!'

'Harry, are these your friends? Were they with you at the Ministry?'

'Er – yeah…they were,' said Harry, taken aback by the whole commotion.

'Harry – is it true? Are the rumours true?'

'What rumours?' said Ginny suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

'That you are the Chosen One?'

'The Chosen What?' said Harry, raising his eyebrows in complete confusion.

'The Chosen One, my dear boy! The one – the __only__ one who can conquer – for once and for all –'

'They are saying that __you__ can defeat the Dark Lord!'

'Harry, what is your next move?'

'__Can__ you defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Do you have secret powers that he knows not?'

'What do you plan on doing after Hogwarts?'

'Many are saying that you aspire to become an Auror, is that true?'

'I –' said Harry hesitantly.

'Is that true?' asked a thin reporter, who was so excited that he dropped his quill.

'And the rest of you?' asked another reporter, pushing the other reporter out of the way as he scrambled about on the floor for his quill. 'Do you all wish to pursue careers as Aurors?'

The reporter's eager face looked around at the teenagers.

'If, indeed, you __are__ the Chosen One, Potter, it would seem only wise to become Auror…your friends as well.'

Hermione's head began to ache more than her ribs as the interviews lasted two hours. Her eyes hurt from the continuous flashes of light from the cameras. She dreaded the photos that would appear in the Daily Prophet. In truth, she had not even seen a hairbrush for over a week and the events at the Ministry, as well as her prolonged stay in the hospital wing, had left her pale and sick-looking.

That night in her bed, she lay awake and stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the hospital wing and pondered.

What __were__ her plans for after Hogwarts?

Ever since Barty Crouch Junior's suggestion of becoming an Auror, she had thought of little else. Hermione absent-mindedly rubbed the burn on her chest where Dolohov had sent the streak of purple flame. She remembered the baby-faced Death Eater and the blazing look on Harry's face as he had raised his wand to strike, until she had stopped him.

__'You can't hurt a baby!'__

She wanted to help in the war against Voldemort. She thought of Ron's curse and near-suffocation by the brains. She thought of Neville being tortured…of Ginny's broken ankle…and of Harry. For the second time, Harry had faced Voldemort in his new flesh. Even though she had been out cold for the remainder of the battle, Hermione knew that she did not possess half of Harry's bravery. She knew she did not possess the bravery to be an Auror.

Oddly enough, her thoughts went to Snape. He wasn't on the battlefield that day. Yet, she remembered Kingsley's words: __He wouldn't have made it if it were not for Severus.__

He had contributed more to the fight than anybody and that was __not__ by fighting, but by saving.

She thought of Tonks and Mad-Eye and Kingsley. They were all highly experienced and skilled Aurors; the type of wizards that most would aspire to be like. Harry and Ron certainly aspired to become like them.

Potions was a subject that she had never considered studying after Hogwarts. Her interest in the subject had always been stunted by the dismissive disposition of the Potions Master. For years, her priority in Potions had been to achieve flawless results. She had simply never considered potion-making as a career.

Becoming an Auror would mean killing and harming others and it was not in her nature to deal out death and violence. Potions was different; it was a combination of different branches of magic: magic that could be used to cure, magic that could be used to harm, to heal, to protect and, most importantly, to save. Plenty of witches and wizards became Healers. But, as Remus had said, very few people were prepared to explore potions used to _reverse_ the effect of dark curses.

Hermione thought back to that moment, when Professor Snape had stood over Ron's bed, using potions and complex magic to coax some life back into his body.

Weighing up the powers of Mad-Eye, Remus and Kingsley, who had stood back, powerless and incapable of doing anything, Hermione realised the true value of potion-making. Two Aurors, a nurse and a werewolf could only look on, watching helplessly, as the Potions Master saved Ron.

She could save the lives of those she loved.


	2. Chapter Two

The next day, Ron, Hermione and Neville were all discharged from the hospital wing, much to their relief. However, they had only spent an hour of their freedom down by the lake before Hedwig fluttered down to the grassy bank where they sat with a note attached to her leg.

'It's from Dumbledore,' said Harry, ripping open the letter, as Hedwig warily eyed the huge tentacle emerging from the surface of the water. 'We've to meet him in his office in ten minutes.'

They all looked at each other in bewilderment, except for Harry. His face changed as he assumed a hard, determined expression.

'Maybe, it's to do with Umbridge,' suggested Ron. 'I mean…we __did__ take her into the forbidden forest and let the centaurs take her away –'

'She was going to hurt Harry!' said Hermione indignantly. 'We had to do __something__.'

'Let's go,' said Harry irritably, who was not in the mood for reliving the events of that day. Reluctantly, the six of them left their spot on the grassy bank and headed inside the castle, leaving the warm sunshine behind.

'Ah, good afternoon,' said Professor Dumbledore warmly as they entered his office. 'I apologise for dragging you all inside on a day like this. However, this shan't take too long.'

They were not the only ones standing inside the Headmaster's office: Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, looking pale-faced and weak, Tonks, Remus, Mad-Eye and Kingsley all stood behind the Headmaster's desk.

'Fortunately, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's care and the skill of the Healers at St Mungo's, you are all on the mend, if not fully recovered…' he said, nodding to Tonks, Professor McGonagall and the six teenagers. The Headmaster turned to address the six teenagers. 'The bravery and courage with which you handled the events at the Ministry far exceeds that of many great witches and wizards. You knew the risks of stepping into the Ministry that evening and yet you stuck by your resolution to come to the aid of another...to help a friend in need...for Harry and...for Sirius.'

Harry's eyes lowered to the floor.

'The power of friendship and love never ceases to amaze me, even after all this time,' he continued. 'It is a meagre token, especially after the pain and suffering that you all have undergone, but you will all be given the Special Award for Services to the School along with fifty points to each of your Houses.'

Professor Snape's eyes widened and opened his mouth to protest.

'As..._deserving_ as they are of such accolades. The term has already ended and it was_ Slytherin_ who won the House Cup –'

'No matter, Severus,' replied the Headmaster with a twinkle in his eye. 'We can add the points at the beginning of the next school year.'

Professor Snape struggled to conceal his scowl.

'I think you will all agree that it is, indeed, a challenge to perform defensive magic, even in the safety of the classroom. To do so in the real world, in the face of true and terrifying danger, is considerably harder. But you have shown remarkable skill and strength that even the greatest wizards cannot claim to have possessed at your age. It is a cruel world when teenagers have experienced more danger and suffering than those twenty years their senior. But, this is only the beginning.' The Headmaster lowered his head and began to pace in front of his desk as his eyes contemplated the hem of his robes. 'Dark times are ahead…even more so, now that Voldemort is out in the open.'

There was an audible gasp from the crowd as Dumbledore said the name.

'However,' he continued as though nothing had happened, 'it is __essential__ to remember that, in times like these, we need our friends more than ever. Voldemort seeks to spread lies, suspicion, hatred and fear...it is only if we are __united__ that we stand a chance of protecting ourselves…_and_ our friends.'

Hermione swallowed the lump that she did not realise had been growing in her throat. For some strange reason, she felt the urge to cry at his words. The room stood in silence as Fawkes the phoenix sang softly.

'And so, before I give you my leave to enjoy your last day of freedom here at Hogwarts, I wish to thank you all and to remind you that…we must stick together.'

Hermione smiled as he said this: his words reminded her of those that Ron had said in the hospital wing. She beamed at Ron and he winked back.

They both looked over to Harry, who was looking at the Headmaster with a strange expression on his face.

'Sir…Professor Dumbledore…I – there's something I need to ask you,' said Harry decisively as the whole room turned to look at him.

Professor Dumbledore nodded.

'Go on,' he said softly.

'I want to join.' His request was met with silence. 'I want to join the Order.'

An uncomfortable atmosphere filled the small office. Remus and Kingsley exchanged exasperated expressions.

'Before any of you say anything, it was what…Sirius…wanted…it's what __I__ want. If we're in this, which we are, and there's no going back…we should be in it together! Just like Professor Dumbledore says,' said Harry resolutely.

'But Harry…' began Remus sadly. 'You're still so young…the content of these meetings would terrify you – as it would any other fifteen year old. It's too much to bear. Plus you're at school. You can help the Order by focusing on your studies –'

'By keeping out of the way you mean,' snapped Harry bitterly.

'Don't be too eager to throw your childhood away, Harry, because you'll never get it back,' he replied patiently.

'I am NOT a child! Professor –' he said, turning to Dumbledore. 'You said it yourself, I have faced more in fifteen years than most wizards have in a lifetime.'

'Yes…But, Harry –'

Remus began, but stopped, as Professor Dumbledore stepped forward with his head bowed and his hands steepled together.

'I agree,' he began gently, 'with Harry.'

'But, Albus, the rules state –'

'Rules can be changed, Minerva. In light of our conversation the other night, Harry, I think the rules, on this occasion, should be bent slightly.'

'What conversation?' snapped Professor Snape.

'That, I'm afraid, is between myself and Harry, Severus.'

The Headmaster ignored the muttering that began amongst the staff and Order members.

'I accept your request to join the Order of the Phoenix, Harry…the offer stands for Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, should they wish it, and Mr Longbottom, if...'

'Sorry, Professor Dumbledore, I – I don't think I'm cut out for...'

'Mr Longbottom, you have shown skill and courage that exceeds that of most wizards twice your age,' said Professor Dumbledore kindly.

Professor Snape snorted loudly.

Neville blushed furiously and turned his head towards his shoes in order to shield his red face. He mumbled something incoherent about 'see what Gran thinks.'

'And as for you, Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood, I –'

'Certainly not, Albus,' Minerva snapped, looking much like her old self as she stepped forward. 'They are much too young.'

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but stopped herself as Professor Dumbledore raised his hand.

'I think that is for the best, Minerva. I do not mean to doubt or undermine the strength and fortitude that you both possess, but I cannot accept any witch or wizard under the age of sixteen into the Order of the Phoenix.'

Ginny nodded sullenly as she assumed a slightly sulky expression. Luna was looking out the window, making clicking noises with her tongue and appeared to have missed the entire conversation.

Hermione looked around the teachers and Aurors and noticed many of them exchange worried expressions, except from Professor Snape who looked deeply disgruntled.

'I guess that concludes our meeting,' said Professor Dumbledore cheerfully. 'Once you have reached the age of sixteen, you shall henceforth become members of the Order of the Phoenix.'

It took Hermione several minutes to process this information whilst the teachers filed out of the Headmaster's office.

'Wicked,' said Ron, grinning widely. 'Fred and George will be raging: they didn't get to join when they were sixteen…'

Ginny muttered resentfully under her breath, while Harry went over to Fawke's perch to stroke his dazzling red feathers.

'It's only one year! There's no big difference,' Ginny huffed impatiently.

Nobody dared argue with the fiery tempered Weasley.

That night, as Hermione lay in her four poster bed for the last time until September, she pondered over all the changes that would accompany her return to Hogwarts in autumn.

She would be undertaking her N.E.W.T.s, which made her feel very apprehensive especially when she thought of Potions.

The pressure to excel in Potions would be astronomical, now that she knew she wanted to pursue Potions as a career. In truth, she felt slightly queasy at the thought of the workload and pressure that she would have to endure next year with Potions and her position in the Order of the Phoenix.

She thought back to last September, when she had received her Prefect badge, and the pride that she had felt to be trusted with that level of responsibility. The responsibility had seemed massive at the time but now, given her status as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, she felt scared. Hermione had never felt so old in her life.

* * *

><p>Two weeks into the summer holidays, Professor Dumbledore informed the Order that he would be collecting Harry personally from the Dursleys' and taking him to the Burrow, which was being used as temporary headquarters. With the death of Sirius, there was much confusion with regards to the inheritor of Grimmauld Place.<p>

Hermione had spent a mere fortnight at her parents' house before she had received an owl from Molly Weasley, inviting her to spend the rest of the summer holidays at the Burrow.

The night that Harry was due to arrive, Hermione and Ron sat playing Exploding Snap on the sofa, whilst Mrs Weasley napped in her armchair. Fred and George sat on the floor discussing ideas for new products for their shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and Ginny was playing with Crookshanks in the other mismatched armchair. The sound of tinkling china could be heard as Fleur Delacour loudly prepared tea in the kitchen.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and Mrs Weasley sprang from her armchair to answer it.

'It can't be Harry, yet,' said Ron, checking his watch. 'Mum said Dumbledore was still at the Ministry with that new Rufus Scrimgeour bloke…'

'Who's he?' asked Ginny, looking up curiously from the furry, ginger mass that was reclining on her lap.

'Fudge's replacement,' said George grimly. 'The new Minister for Magic…'

'It __can't__ be Harry,' continued Ron, staring disbelievingly at his watch.

However, before any of them could answer, they heard loud, heavy footsteps that shook the entire house with every step.

'Hello all!' said Hagrid in his loud, booming voice as he entered the living room.

Hermione and Ron jumped up from the sofa to greet him and they were both pulled into a rib-cracking hug.

'Good ter see yeh, good ter see yeh! Tha's Professor Dumbledore heading off to Surrey now…Oh, tha's lovely, Miss Day-La-Coor,' said Hagrid kindly as Fleur handed him a cup of tea, which looked minuscule in his huge hand. 'Yep…he'll be here before midnight.'

Hermione's face crinkled in confusion.

'But Surrey's not __that__ far,' she said logically. 'Even by broom.'

'Or Thestral,' supplied Ginny.

'Or Hippogriff,' said Fred.

'Aye, bu' Professor Dumbledore said he's got a job fer 'im,' said Hagrid knowingly as he sank onto the sofa. Ron and Hermione sat on the floor next to him as his bulk filled the entire couch.

'Blimey, I wonder what it is,' said Fred Weasley, looking up from the order forms that he and George were discussing.

'Dunno...dung-bombing Malfoy Manor?' suggested George.

'Did you see Lucius Malfoy's mug shot in the Daily Prophet? Comedy gold...I was thinking, George, we should put that on the poster for our U-No-Poo products –'

'That's quite enough, boys!' cried Molly as everyone burst into laughter.

'Yeah, we'd better be off Freddie – early start tomorrow!' said George chirpily as he stood up and stretched.

'Are you sure you can't stay?' asked Mrs Weasley anxiously as she got up hastily from her armchair.

'Sorry, Mum…' said Fred, stooping to give Mrs Weasley a hug. 'We can't leave Verity on her own – the shop's just too busy.'

'Anyway, we'll see you soon,' said George, who followed his brother's example and wrapped his arms around his mother's shoulders. 'You must come visit us.'

'Well…we'll try, dear…when Daddy can get time off work,' she said, patting his cheek with her hand.

'I worry about them so,' she murmured as she watched them Disapparate from the window. She reached into the basket next to her armchair and pulled out her enchanted knitting needles. Slowly, they began to spin the wool in mid-air, making soft clicking noises as they did so.

'When will Dad and Bill be back, Mum?' asked Ron, looking up at her.

Mrs Weasley didn't answer and continued to stare out the window, where the twins had Disapparated.

Hermione felt a stab of pity for Mrs Weasley: the fear for the lives of her family and friends was etched into her kindly face. Mr Weasley and Bill often returned in the small hours of the night, given the enormous work load they had to battle through at the Ministry since Voldemort's rising.

Mr Weasley had finally been promoted, but the position came with long hours, hard work and precious little time to spend at home. Hermione had scarcely seen him since her arrival at the Burrow.

They spent the rest of the evening in silence, disturbed only by the sounds of Hagrid slurping his tea and Ron and Hermione talking in hushed voices. Ginny was rolling a ball of wool around the carpet for Crookshanks, while Fleur stared into the fire.

'I theenk I shall retire to my room,' said Fleur, eventually, throwing her long blonde, almost silver, hair over her shoulder. 'Bonne nuit.'

'G'night,' echoed throughout the room until the silence resumed. It was half past twelve before anything else happened.

They all jumped as they heard an audible crack outside the house.

'Harry!' cried Ron and Hermione simultaneously. They both ran to the door and opened it to see his peaky, yet cheerful, face grinning at them. Professor Dumbledore smiled as he watched their joyful reunion.

'Good evening, Molly,' said Dumbledore, bowing his head as he stepped over the doorstep so that his hat could fit through the door frame. He clasped Molly's hand between his own and Hermione gasped.

One of his hands was as black as coal and looked as withered and dead as an autumn leaf. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of alarm and even Mrs Weasley could not take her eyes off of his fingers.

'I have good news,' continued Professor Dumbledore, ignoring their reaction to his hand. 'It seems that Sirius was quite thorough…Grimmauld Place has fallen into Harry's possession and not that of Bellatrix Lestrange. We can return to headquarters within the next few days.'

Molly heaved a sigh of relief. She relished the company at the Burrow, but the continuous arrival and departure of the Order members was becoming a bit of a strain. The purple smudges under Molly's eyes darkened with every day.

'Oh, that's wonderful, Albus,' she said, reaching out to Harry to pull him into a tight hug, once she had gotten over the shock of the Headmaster's withered hand.

'Thank you for your patience, Molly, and for your hospitality. I shall send word to the others as well,' he said smiling cheerfully. 'Good night.'

The trio spent a joyful evening together at the Burrow. They talked about the Ministry, and the tripe that the Daily Prophet had been spouting, as well as the free purple security leaflet that had been issued throughout the wizarding population. Harry told Ron and Hermione about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Slughorn, whom he had met for the first time that night.

'Wonder how long he'll last,' Ron said darkly.

It was a joyful reunion compared to the one they had had last summer. Their reunion last summer had been marred slightly by Harry's fury at having been abandoned at the Dursleys' house, for weeks on end, with no owls or visitors.

However, in the cosy surroundings of the Burrow, it was easy for the trio to forget about the battle at the Ministry and the memories that haunted them.

The next morning, after breakfast, they gathered in Fred and George's old room, which was littered with boxes of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' products.

'I think Mum will be pleased to get back to Grimmauld Place,' said Ron, navigating his way round all the boxes to sit on the bed.

'No wonder,' said Hermione, sitting cross-legged on the floor. 'With all the Order members Apparating and Disapparating all the time. It's no wonder she's so stressed.'

'Yeah,' agreed Ron. 'She told me that Dumbledore asked her if the Order could use our house as temporary headquarters and she just couldn't refuse.'

'Dumbledore was telling me last night,' piped Harry, who had not spoken all morning. 'He also said he's going to give me private lessons this year.'

Hermione and Ron said nothing, but waited with bated breath for Harry to continue.

Harry took a deep breath before speaking. He told them everything that Dumbledore had said last summer, trying to ignore the shame and the grief that he felt, as he remembered their conversation in his office, when he had destroyed most of the Headmaster's possessions.

'It looks like I'm the one who has to finish Voldemort off…at least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives.'

The next few moments were silent. Until Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.

'Hermione!' cried Harry and Ron as she reappeared in another puff of black smoke, sporting a bruised, black eye. Hermione threw the punching telescope across the room, after cursing it bitterly, before turning back to Harry.

'Oh, Harry,' she murmured softly, reaching out to grasp his shoulder.

'Are you scared?' asked Ron looking worriedly at Harry. 'At least he's giving you lessons – he must think you're in with a chance!'

'Of course, he's in with a chance, Ronald!' said Hermione. 'Look at how many times he's beaten him…evil will always be conquered by good.'

Harry's heart lightened as he looked at his two best friends. The fact that they were still beside him, offering him words of encouragement and sympathy was enough to make tears of happiness well in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper, under the pretence of removing grit from his eye.

The ache that had settled in his heart since his conversation with Dumbledore before summer had completely healed as the three of them sat together in Fred and George's old room.

* * *

><p>The next few days at the Burrow passed without great excitement, except from the arrival of their O.W.L. results. Hermione sulked slightly at having only achieved 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defence Against the Dark Arts, to which Ron and Harry made great fun of.<p>

'But what if I don't get in to N.E.W.T. Defence Against the Dark Arts? What if Slughorn is like Snape and only accepts students with Outstandings?' she fretted, staring at the piece of parchment. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes and started to talk about Quidditch – a sure way to get Hermione to be quiet.

Life at the Burrow made it easy to forget about the events going on in the rest of the wizarding world and the movements of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. However, the blissful days were tarnished by news of deaths and disappearances, which Bill and Mr Weasley occasionally brought home with them at night. But, during the hours of sunshine and daylight, it was easy to forget the current circumstances of the wizarding world.

It was only until a trip to Diagon Alley that the trio were reminded of the fact that they were at war.

Many of the shops had closed, shoppers scurried from shop to shop in small, tightly-knit groups, without stopping to speak to anyone and the streets were littered with seedy-looking witches and wizards, attempting to sell items to passers-by from shabby-looking stalls.

Only one wizard was seen walking about by himself and that was Draco Malfoy; one of their fellow Hogwarts students and Harry's enemy. Harry's dislike of Draco had increased a tenfold, since the capture of his father after the Ministry, and it was Harry who insisted on following him to Borgin and Burkes.

'I'm telling you, Harry,' persisted Hermione the next morning as they packed for moving to Grimmauld Place. 'Draco Malfoy is __NOT__ a Death Eater. Just because his Dad's in Azkaban, doesn't mean that Draco will have replaced him…what would You-Know-Who want with a sixteen year old anyway?' she sighed in exasperation.

'But, Hermione – ' replied Harry, grinding his teeth in frustration.

'Drop it,' muttered Ron, watching his mother out of the corner of his eye. 'Mum's watching…'

Hermione and Harry swallowed their arguments bitterly and turned away from each other to pick up their suitcases.

'Right, dears,' said Molly Weasley, rummaging around inside her handbag. 'Are you ready to go? Cars are outside.'

There was a frosty atmosphere in the back of the magically-enhanced Ministry car as Ron, Hermione and Harry sat squashed together, whilst Crookshanks stretched out along their knees. It was an awkward journey during which none of them spoke and the only noise, coming from the inside of the car, was the driver's whistling and Crookshank's loud mews.

However, as they stepped out of the car and looked up at the row of adjoining houses, their argument was forgotten.

Hermione considered how strange it would be to be inside Grimmauld Place without Sirius. As she looked sideways at Harry she saw that he was thinking the exact same thing. Hermione positioned herself between Harry and Ron, as they stood on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, and hooked her arms around their elbows, holding them close to her as they entered the house.

'MUDBLOODS! FILTH! SCUM OF THE EARTH!' cried a familiar voice.

'Oh, bloody hell, here we go,' muttered Ron.

'BLOOD-TRAITOR SLIME! HOW DARE YOU ENTER THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!'

'For Heaven's sake! Be quiet!' cried Minerva McGonagall, who stormed out of the kitchen towards the entrance. She brandished her wand at the curtain, which promptly closed over the yelling portrait of Sirius Black's mother.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at their Transfiguration professor in surprise; she looked completely unrecognisable without her teaching robes and bun. Instead, she was wearing simple, black witch's robes and her hair was not coiled at the top of her head; it was styled in a long plait that hung over her left shoulder. She was no longer pale and sickly-looking and seemed to have made a full recovery.

The three of them gave her a smile as they traipsed through the long hall to the kitchen.

'Blimey,' said Ron, once they were out of earshot. 'I wonder what Snape looks like on his days off.'

'Exactly the same, Mr Weasley,' said a silky voice.

Ron looked around in alarm to see the Potions teacher sitting in a hard backed chair in the corner of the kitchen. It was true; even during the summer holidays, his dress sense or appearance looked no different.

Ron swallowed and turned pink.

'Oh…Hello, sir,' he said, attempting – and failing – to sound jovial. 'Having a nice holiday?'

'Exceptional,' said Professor Snape tonelessly without moving from his chair.

'Let's go upstairs,' muttered Ron under his breath. The three of them picked up their suitcases and trudged up the three flights of stairs, until they reached the bedrooms that they had been using the summer before.

'It's going to be weird, isn't it?' said Ron as he dumped his suitcase onto the bed.

'What is?' asked Harry, perching Hedwig's cage on top of the cupboard.

'Seeing all the teachers out of school and…y'know…being part of the Order…it's just weird,' replied Ron, sinking down onto his bed.

'Yeah,' said Harry unenthusiastically.

It took them the better part of an hour to empty their suitcases and fill the dusty wardrobe with their clothes and to sort out the rest of their belongings.

'Phew, glad that's done,' said Ron, pushing his suitcase under the bed. 'I hope Mum's making food...'

'I think I'm going to go for a kip…d'you mind?' said Harry. Without waiting for answer, he lay down on his mattress and closed his eyes. Ron shook his head and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him so that Harry was submerged into total darkness.

'Ron!' said Hermione, jumping in surprise, as Ron entered her room. 'You gave me a fright. Where's Harry?'

Hermione was sitting at the desk in the room that she and Ginny would be sharing. Her hands were stained with ink from the quill she was holding in her hand.

'He's sleeping in our room,' said Ron. 'I think he just wants time to himself.'

'I can't blame him,' said Hermione gently. 'It must be hard for him…being back here.' She bent her head over the piece of parchment in front of her and continued writing.

'Who are you writing to?' asked Ron curiously, stepping over the scattered trunks towards the desk. 'Oh dear, it's not _Vicky_, is it?'

Hermione gave him a withering look.

'No,' she said tartly. 'I'm writing to Professor Dumbledore.'

'What for?' he asked, sitting down on Hermione's bed next to Crookshanks, who hissed at the sudden movement.

Hermione blushed faintly, before turning to face him.

'Don't laugh, but…' she began hesitantly. 'I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do after Hogwarts…I know you and Harry want to become Aurors –'

'Fat chance now after those results,' said Ron morosely. 'There's no way Snape will let us in to his N.E.W.T. classes with Exceeds Expectations.'

' – I've been thinking, I'd quite like to study Potions…after Hogwarts, that is,' continued Hermione.

'Potions?' said Ron incredulously, screwing his face up in disgust. 'What's the point in doing that?'

'I just feel that it's a really useful branch of magic to study –'

'Well, yeah, when you compare it to Ancient Runes or Astronomy…But, how's that going to stop You-Know-Who?'

'Potions can be used to save lives, Ron!' she insisted. 'They can be used to heal people and to create antidotes to curses. I don't know…ever since that night at the Ministry…I just can't get it out of my head. I'm writing to Professor Dumbledore to ask about applying to a wizarding university after Hogwarts.'

Ron looked at her incredulously and then shook his head.

'Mental...completely mental.'

Hermione ignored Ron and continued writing her letter, while he sat twiddling his wand between his fingers.

'It's weird, isn't it?' he said eventually. 'To think that we'll be starting Apparition lessons this year…as well as N.E.W.T.s __and__ we're Order members!'

'Oh, gosh! I completely forgot that we sit our Apparition tests this year!' Hermione exclaimed, looking up from her letter. 'Do you think it'll be hard?'

'What? Apparating?' asked Ron distractedly. 'Nah…well Fred and George passed first time. Charlie had to sit it twice, but, then again, he's a lot broader than they are.'

'Ron, could I borrow Pigwidgeon, please?' asked Hermione, several minutes later, once she had finished her letter. 'I want to send this off to Dumbledore well before the start of term so that –'

'Yeah, yeah…' said Ron, cutting through her. 'He's in my room, just go and get him…mind not to wake Harry though.'

* * *

><p>Within several weeks, Harry seemed to have grown accustomed to being back in Grimmauld Place and the absence of his godfather.<p>

Fred and George often came round to Grimmauld Place and, along with the numerous Order members, the atmosphere inside the house was not one of doom and gloom. The only disadvantage of life at Grimmauld Place was the amount of cleaning that had to be done.

Every day, Mrs Weasley set the teenagers cleaning chores around the house. Even in its few months of vacancy, the house had returned to its original squalor. The elation that Hermione had initially felt at being reunited with her two best friends and the magical universe quickly dissipated after weeks of living within Grimmauld Place. She began to count the days until they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express.

'Honestly,' said Mrs Weasley, in frustration, as she siphoned what seemed like decades worth of dust off the stairs with her wand. 'You'd think this house hadn't been lived in for a hundred years!'

She trudged up the stairs, cleaning as she moved, until she reached the landing where the girls' and boys' bedrooms were.

'Hermione, dear?' she called as she walked along the landing.

'Yes, Mrs Weasley?' said Hermione, opening the bedroom door to see the small, red-haired witch standing in front of her.

'Professor Dumbledore is downstairs,' she said. 'He'd like a word with you. Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn are down there, also.'

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. If this was about her letter, she understood why Professor Snape was there. But Slughorn?

She trudged down the freshly cleaned stairs until she reached the kitchen. Opening the door tentatively, she peered round the door frame to see Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn sitting at the table, nursing mugs of tea. Professor Snape stood with his back to the door and his colleagues, with his hands resting on the kitchen worktop.

'Er – Professor?'

'Ah, Miss Granger,' said the Headmaster, clapping his hands together in delight. 'Allow me to introduce you to Professor Slughorn.'

Professor Slughorn was a large man with a very big, protruding belly. He had a huge silver moustache, yet the hair on his head was non-existent. He pushed his chair backwards and extended his pink, beefy hand over the table to shake her own.

'Oho! So this is Hermione Granger! It's a pleasure, miss,' he said jovially. 'Albus…oops, I mean…Professor Dumbledore has told me much about you…Ten Outstanding O.W.L.s! Excellent, excellent!'

'Please, Miss Granger, take a seat,' said the Headmaster, waving his normal hand towards the chairs seated around the table. She slid into the chair nearest to her, giving her a full view of Professor Snape's back.

'As you may have guessed, I have received your letter and I do applaud you on your intuitiveness with regard to your plans for after Hogwarts,' began the Headmaster. 'Now, the reason I have called this meeting is because Professor Snape, who has been Potions Master at Hogwarts for a very long time, will be leaving this post in order to fill the teaching position for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Meanwhile, Professor Slughorn shall be resuming his position as Potions Master at Hogwarts.'

Professor Snape made no acknowledgement of the Headmaster and remained standing with his back to the table.

'As for your letter…it is often desired, by magical institutions, that applicants have proof of a strong, theoretical knowledge, especially in the field of potion making,' Dumbledore explained to her kindly. 'In order to do this, you must concoct a potion, of your choice, and make detailed notes of its development at each stage of the brewing process. Your notes will, then, be combined to form a dissertation…not the most exciting part of potion-making, I can imagine, but it can be used as strong evidence of your abilities and will be submitted to your desired universities as part of your application.'

Hermione nodded calmly yet, inside, she was bubbling with excitement, as she loved nothing more than to describe the unique way in which potions formed, and the changes that occurred through the addition and removal of ingredients, and the colours and consistencies that they varied in. Despite her resolution to be less of a know-it-all and to get rid of her reputation as the school swot, which she made prior to the beginning of every school year, she could not prevent some of her enthusiasm from surfacing on her features and she felt the corners of her mouth stretch into a grin.

'The dissertation will be read and graded by the magical education authorities...the same witches and wizards who will mark your N.E.W.T.s in seventh year. The dissertation will be sent back to the school and, at the beginning of seventh year, when you send out your applications, you will also send copies of your graded dissertation. However, you are not expected to carry out this extra Potions essay_ completely_ on your own as you will be assigned a mentor.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, in surprise. 'And who will that be, sir?'

'Now, this is where the decision is up to you, Miss Granger,' said the Headmaster, looking at her over his half-moon spectacles. 'Here, we have two very skilled professors with extensive knowledge and experience with regard to potion-making. However, they each have two very different areas of expertise. In order to choose the most suitable mentor for your project, I must ask you what area of Potions would you like to study after Hogwarts?'

'I would like to study potions that can be used for healing those who have been cursed by dark magic,' said Hermione softly.

Silence filled the room for several seconds as Professor Slughorn looked at her curiously.

'This is certainly…an __unorthodox__ branch of potion-making,' said Professor Slughorn, rubbing the bald spot of his head with his hand. 'It's gruesome stuff, Miss Granger, not many are willing to devote their life to such a career…very, very dark business.'

'I understand, Professor,' said Hermione. 'But…given the current climate, the wizarding world __needs__ wizards and witches who have this type of knowledge…who have the ability to cure those who have been cursed!'

'Why not become a Healer?'

'Because even Healer's have their limits. You said so yourself, Headmaster,' said Hermione, turning to Professor Dumbledore as she remembered his words.

__An area that is never fully explored in the Healer training process.__

'Hmm…in order to create antidotes to such magic, one needs to have a thorough understanding of the dark arts. Why not aim to make the world a happier place? Look at discovering the likes of cheering potions and the like – they do not require extensive research into dark magic!' said Professor Slughorn.

'But, that won't save anyone from Voldemort,' said Hermione bluntly.

Professor Slughorn's mug slipped from his grasp and smashed as it hit the floor. Professor Snape snarled, but did not turn round.

Slughorn stared at her with an almost fearful expression and he began to nervously stroke the bald patch of his head with his hand. The Headmaster was examining Hermione over his clasped hands.

'I think – I think that Severus would be better suited to being your mentor,' said Professor Slughorn after a few minutes of silence.

'Excellent!' said the Headmaster, clapping his hands together. 'Now –'

Before Professor Dumbledore could finish his sentence, Fleur Delacour burst into the room, her blonde hair swishing about her shoulders, emanating a very flowery, sweet fragrance.

'Oh! Excuse me…I was wondereen eef someone cood help me,' she said, with a pout. 'There eez spiduurs under my bed…I wood get reed of zem myself but I loathe zem so! Zey are so deesgusting!'

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she said the word 'spiders'.

Everyone in the room turned to look at her, including Professor Snape.

Professor Slughorn had never encountered the willowy, part-Veela, French beauty before and, consequentially, his jaw dropped comically. Hermione sighed impatiently. Fleur was part-Veela. They were a race of semi-human creatures characterised by their young, incredibly beautiful appearances. Their beauty was so powerful that it could cause even the most clear-headed of men to forget themselves and attempt to perform impressive gestures to catch their attention. Hermione remembered the Quidditch World Cup, when she had to stop Harry from jumping off his seat in an attempt to impress the Veela.

'Eet eez this house! Eet eez a mess! Dust, everywhere!' she continued, wiping her arms down and shuddering in disgust.

'Of course – of course, my dear,' said Slughorn, rising instantly from his seat. 'Show me where the little pests are.' Hastily, he got to his feet, tripping over the table leg in the process, and scurried out of the kitchen to follow Fleur.

Hermione huffed in disapproval as she watched him follow her up the stairs. Dumbledore suppressed a smile at Hermione's disapproving expression.

'As I was saying, Miss Granger, since this project is merely __proof__ of your talent –'

Professor Snape made a sound between a snort and a scathing snicker.

'– you need not concoct a potion intended to cure those suffering from the effect of dark magic. Professor Snape will furnish you with a list of potions that would be suitable for your project. However, with Professor Snape as your mentor, he will be able to provide you with some useful information, regarding the branch of potion-making you wish to pursue after Hogwarts.'

'How long do I have to complete the potion and the essay?' she asked curiously.

'I shall collect your dissertation on the last day of sixth-year,' replied Dumbledore. 'Severus, is there anything you would like to add?'

The lines around his blue eyes crinkled as he smiled kindly at her and Hermione wished that it was he who would be helping her with her dissertation. Over the years she began to believe that a sarcastic smirk was the closest thing to a smile that Professor Snape could ever achieve.

As Snape slowly turned around to face her, he was smiling. However, it lacked charm and kindness and seemed, to Hermione, as more of a derisive sneer than a smile of good humour. He seemed to be mentally weighing her aptitude for Potions.

Hermione felt her throat constrict as his black eyes rested upon her.

'You are average in ability at potion-making, lacking natural talent in anything other than the ability to retain large quantities of facts from books in your head…I must warn you that potion-making, at this level, requires a lot more hard work than memorising information from the textbook,' Snape finished his speech with his infamous sneer as he looked down his hooked nose at her. Hermione could feel herself redden, as she considered his words.

'Severus,' Dumbledore reprimanded gently through those three syllables and a hardened twinkle in his eye.

Professor Dumbledore was reputed for his kindness, wisdom and power, yet, as she sat before the wizard, whose wispy, white hair stuck out from underneath the bottom of his tall, conical hat, she could not imagine him possessing a power equal to that of Voldemort nor even Professor Snape, who used his power and authority to create fear and anxiety amongst the students.

Snape's mouth twitched as he let out a sigh and lowered his gaze to Hermione's face, which was flushed with crimson. Eventually, she raised her eyes to meet his own, which reminded her, uncannily, of the hollow, black tunnels underneath Gringotts. As well as this, his pallor did nothing to give him the appearance of looking alive.

'Meet me in my classroom to discuss which potion you shall base your dissertation on. Monday. Six o'clock. After dinner. Don't be late.' On that note, he gracefully turned on his heel and exited the kitchen, walking towards the front door at the end of the hall.

It was that night that Hermione began to think more thoroughly about the Potions Master and his role as a spy for the Order. She could not rid the image of his black eyes, which seemed to hold nothing but emptiness.

What about his past before he became one of the Order as well as a spy? And before he was recruited as a Death Eater? It seemed so unlikely that he had ever once felt anything other than bitter and resentful at the way life had turned out for him.


	3. Chapter Three

Monday arrived quickly, what with leaving Grimmauld Place and resettling at Hogwarts, leaving precious little time of which Hermione could devote to research into her Potions dissertation. Professor Snape had not yet given her a list of suggested potions that she could use for her dissertation, yet she knew he would be furious if she turned up without a vague idea of which potion she would brew. One particular brew grabbed her eye as she flicked despairingly through the tattered book of Advanced Potions.

__Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world.__

Hermione sighed.

'No, thank you,' she murmured under breath. But, as she was about to turn the page, her eye caught the vast list of ingredients and soon her interest was captured by the enticingly elaborate brewing process.

Similar to Polyjuice Potion, which she concocted illegally in her second year, the __essence of a person__, for example a hair or skin cells, seemed to be a vital ingredient. The person, whose essence it contained, would fall in love, or, at least, under the illusion of being in love, with the drinker.

__Effectively creates the illusion of being in love, that is to say a powerful infatuation or obsession.__

The complexity of the brewing stages and the variety of ingredients required would allow her to display her extensive knowledge and understanding of potion-making and would, thus, grace her dissertation with animation and bulk.

However, it was all too easy for her to imagine the sneer on Professor Snape's face if she suggested using Amortentia as her dissertation potion…But surely, even he knew that she was not like most of the girls in her year? Books and knowledge were her only passions; not lust-driven, hormone-induced plots to ensnare the opposite sex. Her thoughts drifted to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil as she remembered their plans to sneak Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes love potions into Hogwarts. The two friends had spent their first night back at Hogwarts discussing their plots to get past Filch's new, stringent security system.

But Snape knew the antics that went on among the females in the senior year groups. He knew the type and it was very clear that she was not one of them.

_Surely_ Professor Snape would know that her sole reason for brewing Amortentia would be to demonstrate her abilities and to be able to provide a thorough knowledge of the various practices of potion-making?

'Amortentia?' he repeated slowly, as if weighing each syllable on the tip of his tongue.

'Yes, Professor,' Hermione replied, her voice quivered with a hint of forced determination and certainty. 'It requires a vast amount of work and attention, as well as being considerably harder than most potions. Nevertheless, what it lacks in simplicity, it makes up for in richness. It is a gift of a potion to base a dissertation on, given its complexity and the numerous, distinct stages of progression. I am certain that...that by studying this potion I could create a dissertation of the level required to pass.' She swallowed nervously as she awaited his response.

'Indeed. It is a __gift__ of a potion to provide a framework for your dissertation…on the condition that it is concocted precisely down to every last detail,' he replied, pronouncing the last few words with tongue tip precision as if emphasising how specific its fermentation must be. 'On top of the vast amount of care and attention that this potion requires, it is also necessary to consider your other studies, as well as the dissertation itself, never mind the amount of time that you must dedicate to the brewing of the potion…' He trailed off meaningfully and fixed her with his deadpan stare that did not entirely suppress a triumphant smirk.

'I know that I am capable of keeping up to date with my deadlines, I am aware that it's going to be diffic –'

'As well as the aforementioned -' His baritone voice cut swiftly through her high-pitched protests. 'It is necessary that you include the __essence of a person__ and test the potion, noting down each symptom that the drinker possesses. Who, may I ask, is your intended guinea-pig?'

'I…I don't know…I hadn't thought about it…' she finished, lamely. 'Wait – hold on, sir, what would happen if the potion you were creating was lethal? Would the same rules apply?'

He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes.

'No, Miss Granger, because the advanced Potions textbook specifically states that the potion must be one that does not harm a person in any way and must have a short-term effect, allowing for the potion to be tested on a living person,' he said slowly as if he was talking to a particularly stupid five year old.

'Oh…I suppose I could ask Harry or Ron or one of my classmates…'

'Is your love life that bad that you must resort to using magical means to gain attention from the myriad of idiots in your year?' The flicker of a sneer flashed across his lips as he looked at her.

Beetroot would have been an understatement to describe the colour that her face flushed at his words.

'I…Professor! I fail to see how my __love life__ is any of your – How…My intentions are purely academic!'

She expected him to shout at her for her outburst. She was not prepared for what happened next.

He turned to her, a smirk playing on his pale features. Suddenly, the slightly upturned corners of lips drooped and his right hand grabbed his left forearm. A gasp of pain was wrenched from him and he jerked forward in his seat. The upper half of his body leaned over his left hand, which he continued to clutch in his right.

'Professor! Are you alri –' she exclaimed in shock, jumping out of her seat. She touched his shoulder gently and, as her fingertips grazed the black material that shrouded his figure, he jerked upright and his eyes met her wide-eyed, terrified stare.

'I must go,' he said, his voice was husky and barely a whisper. He had not let go of his left arm.

'Is Amortentia OK with you? I could choose something else, if you think it would be the wisest thing to do?' she said, her voice was high-pitched and frantic as she could not shake off the image of lost control that she had just seen in the man before her. He was the one person who was always in control.

'I must go,' he repeated forcefully. 'Tomorrow night. Same time. We can discuss your dissertation then.' Without waiting for her to leave the classroom first, he exited swiftly, his black robes fluttering behind him.

* * *

><p>She did not know how long she stood there beside the hard backed chair that he had vacated, staring through the open door that led out into the dungeon corridor. Over and over again, she recalled the sharp intake of breath that had escaped him and the way he jolted forward in pain. This sign of weakness reminded Hermione that he, too, was only human; susceptible to pain and fear like anyone else. Only, it was a side of him that was rarely seen.<p>

Arrogance and anger were the two personality traits that were only ever on display to the public, but what Hermione had just seen was neither of the two, which stirred, in her, a newfound sympathy for the man she had always regarded with nothing short of dislike and feared respect.

She had only ever caught one glimpse of the Dark Mark, which was branded onto the skin of his left forearm. It was during the summer holidays at Grimmauld Place, Professor Snape had been engaged in an icy conversation with Remus Lupin in the kitchen when the sleeve of his black frockcoat had risen and she had seen the red, hot outline of the snake laced through the skull. Revulsion filled her at the thought of the ugly mark scorching the sensitive skin of the forearm, but what was even more disturbing was the thought of what pain awaited, after touching it and Disapparating to Voldemort's location.

Hermione knew that she ought to leave and that she ought to return to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron would be waiting for her. She needed to sleep. Her eyes rested upon the watch that was wrapped round her wrist by a thin strap of leather. It had been her sixteenth birthday gift from her parents, who had chosen to disregard the fact that most witches and wizards received a watch after turning seventeen in the wizarding world. A mere fortnight remained until Hermione's seventeenth birthday and it was surreal to think that she would soon be of age.

The hands of the miniature clock revealed that it was nine o'clock. Snape had left almost three hours ago and the idea of leaving the dungeons without knowing if he had returned safely filled her with dread. What if something happened to him? She would need to alert Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix of his absence. That thought settled her disquiet. She would wait until he returned to Hogwarts and then she would retire to her dormitory. However, she could not shake off the feeling of unease that rested at the pit of her stomach like molten rock. For the first time in her life, she fully appreciated the danger that Professor Snape placed his life in every time he was summoned.

She regularly checked the watch on her wrist, wishing it would transform into something similar to Mrs Weasley's clock. The Weasley family's clock had nine hands that bore the name of each of the family member and pointed to the current position of that person. She imagined her own watch transforming into a similar device and Professor Snape's name pointing towards __mortal peril__.

Shaking the thought from her head, she tried to block out the images, which were forming in her mind, of Professor Snape being subjected to the most brutal forms of torture at the hands of the Death Eaters. The merciless leers of the Death Eaters kept appearing clearer and clearer in her mind's eye as her imagination grew even wilder. The already dim Potions classroom darkened as the sky became an ebony canvas…

After previously imagining him in situations of agonising torture, she jumped violently when the real person appeared in the door frame before her.

'I thought I dismissed you,' he stated simply as he strode into the room. 'What are you doing here, Miss Granger?'

'Professor! I'm so sorry! I just – I had to – I had to make sure that you were OK…' Her voice trailed off quietly and she began to feel a surge of foolishness as the figure of Professor Snape loomed over her. Now that he was here, in front of her, her wild fantasies of his death and torture seemed irrational and idiotic.

'As touched as I am by your concern, I fail to see what help a sixth year girl would be to me if I returned in a state less than '__OK__',' he retorted. His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he refrained from sneering at her. Hermione failed to see his expression as her bushy head drooped onto her chest with embarrassment and fatigue.

'Foolish girl…' he muttered, without much conviction. 'Given that you are out of bounds after curfew, I shall have to escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. Follow me.'

* * *

><p>'Blimey, Hermione! You look terrible!' Ron exclaimed, by means of greeting, as Hermione entered the Transfiguration classroom. She fixed him with a bloodshot glare that caused him to duck his head guiltily.<p>

'Thanks, Ron,' she retorted, dropping heavily on the bench beside Harry, whilst self-consciously trying to tame her even-bushier hair with her hands. Lavender Brown seemed to find Ron's comment particularly amusing and let out a loud cackle of laughter. Hermione's pale, tired face was suddenly tinged with pink as she focused her attention on her Transfiguration textbook.

'He doesn't mean it like that, Hermione. You look…tired,' said Harry hesitantly, trying to repair Ron's mistake. Hermione blushed even more furiously at the memory of her idiocy last night. She was not about to reveal her foolishness to the pair of them, only to be further mocked.

'Where were you last night anyway? What time did Snape let you away?'

'I – I don't remember. I just went straight to bed.' she garbled quickly, opening her textbook even though she had no idea what chapter they would be covering that day.

'I bet it's that dissertation! It's affecting you already. You work too hard,' said Ron quickly as if trying to amend his earlier mistake of commenting on her appearance.

'What? It's nothing – I'm fine,' she said hastily.

But, before Ron or Harry could say anything else, the heavy wooden door opened and Professor McGonagall entered.

'Good morning, everyone!' Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief as Professor McGonagall bustled into the room, announcing the learning objectives in her heavy Scottish brogue. 'Today, we shall be embarking upon the study of human transfiguration.'

As the teacher magicked approximately a dozen hand mirrors into the air, one for each student, the class was taught to change the colour of their eyebrows – an immensely tricky task that rendered the conversation topic of Hermione's dissertation forgotten.

'Wow, Hermione. Seriously, you look so much…better now that you have some food in you,' Ron announced at dinner. Clearly he still felt guilty for his outburst that morning about her appearance. Hermione looked at him and smiled gently.

She often caught Ron looking at her in a wistful sort of way. But Hermione knew that their relationship would never go beyond friendship. In his heart, Ron knew, as well that they were only cut out to be friends. However, sometimes, she thought she caught a rather hopeful look in his eyes as he watched her.

It was difficult for her to feel disappointed for him as she knew that it would only be a short while before he met someone better suited to his funny character and his mischievous charm. As for her, the traits that she looked for in a person were rare and hard to find.

Never, at Hogwarts, had she found a fellow pupil of the opposite sex whose interests matched her own.

Viktor's quiet demeanour was not her most desired quality in the opposite sex, but his silent, modest manner was unoffending and contrasted greatly to the brash, brazen attribute that was dominant in the majority of the male population at Hogwarts. If she was being totally honest with herself, the sincerity of his feelings towards her and his frequent trips to the library, just to be in her presence, touched her.

Although she was an integral part of their closely-knit trio, there were times when Hermione felt shut out of the boys' world. She thought back to their fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament and the animosity that had surfaced between her and Ron and the subsequent fragmentation of the trio. They were her closest friends and their friendship could never be ruptured, but there were times when Hermione felt as alone as she had done during her first month at Hogwarts.

It was perhaps why she craved attention in the classroom and admiration from her teachers. It was, also, perhaps why she was torturing herself by choosing to spend several nights a week with a man who she severely disliked in the hope that, one day, he might be impressed by her ability.

The thought of the man in question, along with the sound of people leaving the Great Hall, roused her out of her indulgent reverie and Hermione realised, with great alarm, that it was half past six. She yelped and turned towards the High Table where her eyes clapped upon the empty seat that Snape usually occupied.

'Oh Merlin! I'm late! I have to go! See you later,' she called to Harry and Ron as she grabbed her bag and ran to the dungeons.

'Professor, I'm so sorry I'm –'

'Late.' Irritation dripped from the single syllable as she sat down heavily at her usual seat during N.E.W.T. Potions. As she looked at the sarcastic teacher, she noted how much she missed the jovial nature of Professor Slughorn, who, for the past few days, had been her Potions teacher.

'Yes, sir. I'm sorry.'

'Five points for your tardiness.'

She parted her lips as if to argue that they were out with class hours, but changed her mind as he looked at her with a stern expression that challenged her to disagree with him. He grabbed a stool from a nearby table and placed it on the floor at the other side of her desk. His black eyes bored into her.

'Now. Given the perplexing use of your time last night, I can only assume that you have time to waste and so have come to me tonight with a fully devised plan on how you are going to structure your dissertation as well as having memorised each exact step of the potion that you are planning on brewing, am I correct?'

His mention of her foolishness the night before made her blush furiously, but the fact that he expected her to have come with an outline of her dissertation structure and to have memorised the brewing stages of the potion was enough to make her peach cheeks redden to the shade of a Howler envelope. His temper seemed short and so she resolved to not aggravate him further by remaining silent.

'Well?' he snapped.

'No,' she replied timidly.

'No, what?'

'No, __sir__,' she added hurriedly.

'Miss Granger, I am waiting on an explanation as to why you have not made any progress with your dissertation or potion. Never mind your failure to address me properly. I am beginning to wonder, do you truly want this qualification that will open up a multitude of job opportunities? Perhaps the Headmaster failed to emphasise to you that it is my job to __guide__ you, not to do the whole thing for you!' His voice started off as a low growl but, when he finished his tirade, he was red in the face and breathing heavily.

'I was unsure, sir,' she added hastily, 'if we had agreed to go with Amortentia or if you think it advisable to go with another potion, sir?' Her eyes averted from his face and she began to twirl a strand of hair round her finger in agitation.

'You mean you haven't progressed further than what we discussed last night?' he snarled. Her reluctance to look at him revealed her answer, without the need to open her lips. 'I am sacrificing my time to help you achieve your ambition! Everyone else is trying to help __intelligent__ Hermione Granger further her career and to achieve her maximum potential, but she is a law unto herself! Will you cease that annoying habit!'

He slammed his hand onto the table in front of her with an alarming thud that caused Hermione to jump in terror. She untangled the offending strand of hair from her finger and stared up at him in shock.

His temper seemed somewhat more irrational than usual. She thought they had parted last night on reasonably well terms: he had been annoyed at having to traipse all the way from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower, but he had seemed no angrier than usual and so she was perplexed as to why, now, he seemed so furious.

'What were you doing here last night?' he growled in a low voice. 'You are sitting several N.E.W.T.s and are choosing to take on an extra assignment, yet you feel that you have the time to snoop around my classroom and privacy during my absence!'

'Professor, I wasn't – I would never do anything like that! I would never snoop around your classroom or infringe upon your privacy or anything like that. I know I could have been doing something more constructive last night…' His words had caused her to feel a slight twinge of guilt at having completely abandoned her dissertation and her eyes slid to the floor. 'But I couldn't concentrate. I swear I wasn't prying into your personal belongings while you were gone.'

She raised her eyes to look at his face, which was heavily lined with anger. His breathing was ragged and his face was edging closer to her own. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath add to the heat of her cheeks.

'Then why did you stay behind after I had left? You were dismissed.' His voice had dipped to a quiet, threatening growl and his eyes were slightly narrowed in suspicion as he looked at her. His entire aura was like that of a threatened beast; snarling and growling defensively.

'I was telling the truth when I told you that I was concerned!' Her brown eyes were wide; pleading with him to understand that she had been scared for his safety. 'You were gone for hours and I was worried. What if something had happened to you?'

He tore his eyes away from her earnest gaze and leaned away from her.

'My safety is not your concern,' he snarled, unable to keep a tone of bitterness out of his voice. 'Perhaps you entered into this arrangement so you could spy for Mr Potter? Maybe find a few pieces of incriminating evidence of my true allegiance?'

His pale face contorted into a furious scowl that the two syllables of 'Potter' tended to provoke. She had only seen him this angry once before; it was in their third year after Sirius Black had escaped from the Dementors and his death sentence. He had looked just as demented then. Again, he had accused Harry of being responsible. Her eyes were brimming with tears at being the victim of such blind rage, as well as his resolute refusal to believe her.

'Professor! No! You saw me! When you came in! I was sitting on the chair! I was touching nothing! I was looking at nothing! I was just waiting to see if you were OK –'

'A likely story,' he snarled. He looked down at his hand that rested on the table, after he had slammed it down in fury. He began to drum his long, pale fingers on the desk. Hermione exhaled softly. Hermione exhaled heavily as she watched the rhythmic movement of his fingers against the wooden surface. He seemed to be calming down and she wondered if she should speak and try to convince him, again, that she was telling the truth.

Then, all of a sudden, he stopped drumming and the colour drained from his face. His head whipped round swiftly to look at her.

'What did Potter tell you about his Occlumency lessons?' His voice was low and threatening.

'What?' she cried exasperatedly. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'What did he tell you, Miss Granger?'

'That you stopped teaching him because…'

'Because?' His voice was as hard as his expression.

'He said…you'd told him that he was good enough already and…and that he'd got the hang of it…or something like that…' she said in a small voice, shaking her head in bewilderment.

Professor Snape eyed her sternly for a moment as if trying to determine whether she was lying or not, before snorting derisively.

'Professor, what's this about? I –'

'I have heard enough,' he said. 'Get out.'

She sat for a few seconds, willing the tears that had formed in her eyes not to leak onto her red cheeks.

'What about my dissertation?'

'When I see a sufficient amount of evidence that you have been working on it, then I shall arrange another meeting.' His voice seemed calmer now, but she could feel the vestiges of his anger in his tone and in the heat that radiated from his body in front of her. 'Go now.'

* * *

><p>The first few days back at Hogwarts passed without much excitement. For the students at Hogwarts, it was hard to believe that a war was going on outside of the castle as they traipsed from one lesson to the other.<p>

Breakfast, on the other hand, was frequently darkened by the arrival of the Daily Prophet and its news of killings and disappearances.

The only difference, with regard to life at Hogwarts, was the new Potions teacher and, surprisingly, Harry's newfound success in the subject. With every lesson, during which Harry's work far outstripped her own, Hermione regretted her decision to study Potions more and more and that put her in a very bad mood.

'I quite like Slughorn,' Harry proclaimed after one Potions lesson, during which he was the only one in the class to create a flawless potion. 'He's growing on me…'

'You only like him because he adores you! And that's only because he thinks you're good at Potions!' snapped Hermione viciously. 'If you had any decency you'd hand that textbook in!' Hermione gestured to the graffitied copy of __Advanced Potion-Making__ that he held in his hand.

What had initially seemed like meaningless scribbles over every page had transpired to be useful annotations and instructions that produced better results than those printed in the book.

Hermione gave the book a dark look as Harry clutched it tighter to his chest. The three of them entered the Great Hall and sat at their usual spot, before piling shepherd's pie onto their plates.

'Half-Blood Prince…' muttered Hermione under her breath. 'What sort of a name is that!'

'Give it a rest, Hermione,' said Ron despairingly. 'You're just jealous…'

'Jealous!' cried Hermione incredulously. 'Of course I'm not jealous! I just think it's unfair for Harry to be receiving all this praise and – and __admiration __when it's not even his own work!'

'Just don't tell Snape!' said Harry urgently.

'I won't, I won't…'

Harry turned his head back to his Advanced Potion-Making textbook that he had propped up against the flagon of pumpkin juice.

Hermione fell silent as she thought of Snape's fury several nights ago. For the past few Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, he had chosen to blatantly ignore her. Hermione welcomed this treatment as opposed to being constantly picked on, which she had expected of him. However, his words had hurt her and she had spent every night in the library, working up until – and after – curfew, preparing her dissertation notes.

Hermione was the first to finish her dinner that night and, after her plate was empty, she got up and headed towards the library.

For several hours she worked until the light emitting from the flames of the floating candles began to dim and Madam Pince stood behind her desk, huffing impatiently.

'Miss Granger, you have been here for approximately six hours and I have kindly kept my library open for an extra ten minutes.' The shrill voice of the librarian bounced off of the surrounding stone walls. 'Please appreciate the fact that we lowly mortals need rest and do not have the capacity to work for twenty-four hours without sleep!'

Hermione threw an apologetic look at the librarian as she hastily finished her notes on the brewing of Amortentia. She had spent the previous day planning the layout of her dissertation, which consumed the total amount of time of all her free periods, the time between four o'clock in the afternoon – when her classes ended – and eleven o'clock at night – when the library closed. She had followed the exact same routine today, spending all of the time that she wasn't in class or in the Great Hall in the library.

As her weary eyes scanned her notes, Hermione's face cracked into the first smile that she'd worn in days. She now felt confident that she knew all of the stages of the brewing process off by heart.

An impatient hiss from Madam Pince pierced Hermione's thoughts.

'I'm sorry, Madam Pince! I'm leaving now.' On that note, she hastily crammed the numerous sheets of parchment and textbooks into her bag. It was very late and the silence that filled the corridors was deafening.

Hermione tiptoed quietly along the corridor, fearful that any noise she made would attract Peeves, the pesky poltergeist that wreaked havoc throughout the castle. But, as she reached the end of the hallway, a loud bang, reverberating from another corridor, grabbed her attention.

She stared in front of her at the marble staircase before her. She knew that the wisest thing to do would be to return to her dormitory. There would be teachers patrolling the hallways who would have heard the disturbance and who would check for danger. There was no need for her to investigate.

But, her Gryffindor sensibilities stirred within her and forced her to turn away from the staircase, leading to the Gryffindor common room, and uncover the source of the clatter. In one fluid movement she pulled her wand from the inside of her robes.

'Lumos.'

The blinding light issuing from the tip of her wand caused her to screw up her eyes as they adjusted to the harsh blaze. She heard angry muttering from the portraits along the wall, which she ignored, as she ventured further and further down the corridor. As she reached the end of the corridor, she could make out the dusky outline of the heavy oak doors that stood as the main entrance to Hogwarts. The corridor had led her to the Entrance Hall.

She concealed herself behind a thick stone column as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. As far as she could discern, there were no suspicious shadows or voices, nor did she see the pale, gnarled faces of the Death Eaters that appeared in her nightmares. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out from behind the pillar only to collide with a tall figure clad in black, causing her to topple backwards.

'Voldemort!' Her voice was shrill and panicked as she pushed herself away from the tall, looming black figure.

'DO NOT say that name!' she heard a familiar voice hiss.

Hermione looked up to see the figure of Professor Snape bearing over her.

'Well, Miss Granger…First I find you lurking in my classroom after hours and now I find you here upon my return to the school – again, after hours – I am beginning to wonder, are you following me?'

'No, Professor. I was in the library and then I heard a crash so I thought I'd come here to check –'

'Miss Granger, it is not the responsibility of a sixth year girl to check the goings-on of this school. Especially after hours.'

'But I'm a member of the Order too, and I –'

'Lower your voice, Miss Granger.' He bent over to look her in the eye. 'The Order of the Phoenix is a __secret__ organisation and, if you persist in demonstrating your lack of subtlety, you may find your membership revoked,' he hissed.

She gulped at this threat and decided against apologising. Apologising did not have the same effect on him as it did on other human beings.

He sighed and straightened up. His features, which were clouded slightly by the lack of lighting in the hall, had been twisted into annoyance, but now they appeared void of emotion. He sighed again, as he looked at her, before holding out his hand to help her up.

'What were you doing up so late in the library?' His voice had changed now; his tone was low, but it no longer held the menacing hiss. Hermione tried not to let her bewilderment surface on her face. He had been furious with her the last time they had spoken and, now, he seemed almost amiable.

'I completed all that you asked me to regarding my dissertation,' she said timidly as she feared his reaction to the mention of the dissertation. She eyed the hand that he held before her and, tentatively, curled her fingers around his own. At her touch, he hauled her to her feet, pulling her towards him. Barely an inch separated their bodies as she raised her eyes to his face.

His cheeks were sunken and his face bore several deep cuts and dark smudges of mauve. She assumed that he had been summoned, like he had on Monday night, and instantly regretted screaming the name of the wizard who had undoubtedly inflicted the wounds that marked his otherwise clear skin.

'Very well,' he continued. 'I shall expect to see you in my office on Monday night with evidence of your...hard work.' His lip curled as he spoke the last two words. 'Goodnight, Miss Granger.' He turned from her and began to stride towards the staircase that descended to the dungeons.

'Wait! Professor!' she called at his retreating back. She didn't know why she called; she had escaped unscathed without a detention or a loss of House points. Why prolong his return to the dungeons and risk provoking his temper? 'Shouldn't you go to the hospital wing? Those cuts on your face look rather deep.'

His nostrils flared at her refusal to recognise her dismissal, but as he opened his mouth to give her a snarky retorts, he seemed to note the genuine concern in her face.

'And where do you suppose the hospital wing's extensive supply of healing draughts comes from, Miss Granger?' he asked rhetorically, with a smirk.

'Oh, I see!' Comprehension dawned on her face. 'Goodnight, sir.'

'Goodnight, Miss Granger.'

She stared at his retreating back. Disbelief kept her rooted to the ground. For the first time ever, Professor Snape had met her inquiry with a genuine answer. She headed back to her dormitory, feeling slightly happier that their work together might not be as dreadful as she had anticipated.


	4. Chapter Four

With a breathtaking, dipping sensation, her stomach leapt as his baleful glower centred on her face. The intensity of his gaze transformed the simple act of breathing into a highly strenuous effort. Flushed, she dropped her head to face her work, but the words held no meaning; her mind was focused on something that was _not_ Zygmunt Budge's theory on Shrinking Solution. She raised the book closer to her face to try and make sense of the wriggling black words covering the page and conceal the face that stared up at her from the front of the classroom.

But she could not elude the feeling of being watched by those black tunnels. It was a strange feeling and, yet, one that was not altogether unpleasant.

Gradually, the lesson came to an end and Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as she no longer had to feign reading. Feeling slightly less self-aware, what with the entire class bustling about, she slid her books into her bag and walked cautiously towards the door.

'One moment, Miss Granger. Could you wait behind?'

Again, her stomach jolted and her heart thumped as his voice infiltrated her eardrums. She turned to face him, her body trembling slightly as she did so, and her eyes were filled with sight of him. Everything about him seemed curiously enticing and inviting and she did not know how or why. His dark hair scarcely brushed his shoulders and his piercing eyes were fixed on her face as he opened his mouth to speak.

'Your attention seemed elsewhere today. I wonder…could you tell me _precisely_ what you took from today's lesson?' he asked. She swallowed and tried desperately not to look into his scrutinising stare as she tried to summon a quote from Budge's article from the recesses of her mind. Her face reddened as he cleared his throat impatiently.

'That's what I thought…' he said softly. 'And may I ask the reason for your failure to concentrate in class?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but the words would not come out. Her mind felt foggy and unclear and seemed to inhibit her ability to speak. She looked at him and stared with beseeching brown eyes.

Lifting his head, he glanced around the class and spotted several stragglers and raised his voice.

'Perhaps I should contact your Head of House and express my concern about your incapacity to focus on your classwork…'

Still, Hermione could not speak. The door closed with a loud bang as the last of the students evacuated.

After several moments, a small smirk surfaced on his pallid lips and he took a step towards her. Hermione backed against the wall as he continued to advance towards her.

'I have to go to Muggle Studies…' she muttered as she side-stepped away from his body. She managed to edge round him with an awkward sashay. Cupping her cheeks to cool her flustered face, Hermione turned towards the door.

Suddenly, she felt the firm grip of his hand on her shoulder and, with surprising strength, he pulled her towards him, leaving no space at all between their bodies. Her heart ceased to beat as he lowered his head to her own.

His fingers moved from her shoulder to her face as he grabbed her roughly by the chin. 'Detention. Here. On Friday. Perhaps we can solve your inability to be attentive in class,' he purred into her ear.

* * *

><p>She awoke with a start and could feel her ear ring slightly from where his silky voice had tickled her eardrum. Her thoughts swirled round her head from the bizarre dream and her heart hammered so violently against her ribcage as if she had dreamt that she was drowning. She <em>had<em> been drowning; drowning in the crazy, jumbled thoughts of her subconscious.

Nevertheless, it was not the actual events of the dream that puzzled her – apart from studying Muggle Studies, which she had dropped after her third year – it was the way he had made her feel.

But now, in her lucid state, she felt repulsed. It was like dreaming of fancying Hagrid, or possibly even worse; at least Hagrid was kind. It was so _absurd_.

Hermione shook her head and tried to rationalise the situation: her subconscious had clearly misinterpreted her newfound concern for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's well-being as being something more akin to lust than platonic care.

The sound of Parvati and Lavender getting dressed made her jump.

Exhaling heavily, Hermione realised that she had never been more thankful for the fact that neither Lavender nor Parvati were skilled Legilimens. In fact, the girly duo had probably never even heard of Legilimency.

Hermione smacked her palm to her forehead as the word 'Legilimency' instantly summoned the thought of Snape. She wished she could forget her dream and, already, Hermione dreaded her next encounter with Snape. She thought it unlikely that Professor Snape was in the habit of delving into the inane thoughts of his students, but if, by some unfortunate coincidence, he picked up on the perplexing nature of her dream about him, Hermione would have no choice but to pack her bags and board the first train back to London.

'It was just a stupid _dream_,' she muttered, rubbing her face with her hands as Lavender and Parvati exited the dormitory. 'He doesn't even teach Potions anymore! This is mad.'

She dressed hurriedly, trying to distract herself from the embarrassment that she felt, and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry and Ron sat opposite each other at the Gryffindor table, with their heads bent together in a discussion of deep privacy.

'I still don't see why showing you memories of some bloke from the Ministry getting attacked by a bunch of pure-blood, Parselmouths is going to save you from You-Know-Who.'

'I _told_ you,' Harry replied exasperatedly. 'They're Volde – You-Know-Who's family! Dumbledore must think it's important to understand his background in order to defeat him…or something like that…' Harry looked deep in thought as he stared at the untouched cutlery beside his plate. Ron's thoughtful expression mirrored Harry's for a couple of seconds before he started to shovel food into his mouth. Harry turned his head to look at Hermione.

'Morning, Hermione. I was just telling Ron about my meeting with Dumbledore last night.'

'Oh!' Hermione suddenly perked with interest and a slight twinge of guilt at having forgotten all about Harry's private lessons with Dumbledore. 'What did he tell you?'

Harry began to relate the story of Bob Ogden: the Ministry wizard from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who was attacked by Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt upon delivering Morfin's summons to a hearing.

'So…Marvolo Gaunt was his _grandfather_?' Hermione whispered in disbelief.

'Yeah…'

'S'weird innit?' Ron added, through a mouthful of food. Hermione and Harry turned to him questioningly. 'Y'know…to think that You-Know-Who had family...Anyway, how does that relate to the prophecy?'

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but his dismal expression showed that he was also plagued by this concern.

'Well it's always important to know something about a person's history in order to understand them,' suggested Hermione. 'I think it's fascinating.'

'We don't _need_ to understand him! He's evil – we _know_ that,' said Ron in exasperation. 'It might be interesting to bookworms like you, Hermione, but, at the end of the day, what's the point?'

'I dunno,' said Harry morosely. 'Dumbledore won't tell me.'

'Perhaps if you know more about him, you'll learn more of his weaknesses, which will help you to overpower him?' Hermione supplied.

She had not forgotten about the heavy noose that hung around Harry's neck, but she could not stop the feelings of guilt that surfaced that morning as she realised that she had given him so little thought over the past week. Yet, this did not explain the continued distress that she felt. All through breakfast, she analysed what the source of the sinking feeling that she felt in her stomach could be.

'Ugh! Double Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins first today,' groaned Ron after throwing down his cutlery. For the first time, Hermione shared Ron's gloom. She had never looked forward to lessons with Snape and the Slytherins, but her dread had never been as strong as that of Harry and Ron prior to those classes. However, that morning, she should could not shake off the apprehension that she felt at the thought of a double period with Snape.

As she fidgeted with her fork, Hermione's thoughts turned back to her dream, replaying it in her mind's eye. Her face turned red as she remembered the way he had stepped towards her, pinning her against the wall, and the hardened expression on his face. In the clear light of the morning, she felt slightly sick: he had been her teacher for years and to imagine him as anything else made her feel rather nauseous.

Harry and Ron stood next to her, chatting animatedly about Quidditch, as they stood in line with the other students outside Professor Snape's classroom, waiting for his permission to enter. Hermione leaned against the cold, stone wall of the dungeon corridor, cooling her forehead against it, as she tried to empty her mind and focus on the two hour period ahead of her.

Today, they would be studying nocturnal beasts and so she closed her eyes and began mentally listing the information contained in the chapter about nocturnal beasts. She was so lost in her task of emptying her mind that she did not hear his footsteps striding boldly along the dark dungeon corridor. It was his silky voice that disturbed her thoughts, as it uttered the two syllables of 'Enter' in barely more than a whisper. She held her breath, trying not to inhale his scent, and skirted as far away as possible from him as she walked into the classroom.

She settled herself between Harry and Ron, at their usual desk, and calmly retrieved her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook from her bag. Then, like everyone else, she raised her eyes to the front of the classroom, where Professor Snape stood waiting to give out instructions.

Hermione looked at his face – though carefully avoided making eye contact with him – and saw the faint, pink scars on his skin, which had been bleeding heavily the night before. His healing potions had clearly worked well. However, the cuts had not healed entirely and were the cause of much discussion among the students, who nudged each other and nodded in his direction. Hermione heard a murmur rumble throughout the class as they whispered about their professor's injuries.

Hermione, Ron and Harry looked at each other doubtfully.

'Well, I guess we'll find out tonight about what happened…' Harry muttered under his breath. 'Looks like Voldemort's been using Snape's face as his new chopping board.'

'_Harry_!' cried Hermione scandalised.

'_Don't_ say the name,' muttered Ron through clenched teeth.

'What?' asked Harry defiantly. 'He does! Look at the state of his face!'

'Something to say, Potter?' Professor Snape asked icily. Harry gritted his teeth together.

'No, _sir_.'

'Harry's right, we'll find out tonight...I don't imagine the Order will overlook this,' whispered Ron as he glanced at Snape's face.

'What? Is there a meeting_ tonight_?' Hermione asked, turning to Ron with a confused expression on her face.

'Yeah, McGonagall told us last night in the common room...you were at the library,' Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Professor Snape began to sweep through the rows of tables. Hermione groaned.

'I know,' Ron grumbled, misunderstanding her groan. 'It's Friday night as well! Me and Harry were going to go out flying to – ouch!' Ron yelped and a sudden gust of wind blew up Hemione's hair as Professor Snape slapped the back of Ron's head with the textbook.

Hermione lowered her face to her desk in embarrassment as she became aware of his proximity. Tonight, she would have to spend several hours with a man who she least wanted to spend time with. This did nothing to ease the anxiety that she felt at the thought of her first Order of the Phoenix meeting.

The lesson passed slowly as Professor Snape remarked on how behind they were in their Defence Against the Dark Arts studies. Throughout the class, he injected several contemptuous comments about their skill in the subject as well as the ability of his predecessors.

After a very long and exhausting one hundred and twenty minutes, the bell sounded and the students hastily grabbed their bags and left the classroom and the formidable Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Hermione followed Ron and Harry as she gathered her quill and parchment to her chest.

'Wait, one moment, Miss Granger,' he demanded brusquely.

Hermione cringed as the feeling of déjà vu consumed her. Her footsteps slowed as she approached his desk and she kept her gaze rooted to a spot behind his ear, avoiding his eye.

'Professor McGonagall asked me to inform you that there is an Order meeting tonight.' His voice was crisp and Hermione did not miss the disapproval in his tone. 'Mr Weasley and Mr Potter have already been informed.'

Hermione nodded, ensuring her gaze did not slip to his face.

'Yes, sir. They told me this morning.'

In the lower part of her peripheral vision, she could see his head bow slightly. Strands of hair hung beside his face, brushing his cheek, but the fresh layer of skin that covered the wounds glowed pink and Hermione could not stop herself from speaking.

'How...How are you feeling, sir? After...'

'As you can see, I am in perfect health, Miss Granger.'

'Did you go and see Madam Pomfrey?'

His head shot upwards to look at her and the sudden movement caused Hermione to lower her eyes to meet his furious glower. Professor Snape straightened his back as he looked at her directly in the face. His chest swelled with impatience and it seemed as if his rising temper was about to result in another verbal explosion. However, his voice came out as a low growl as he eyed her sharply.

'Your evaluation of my abilities is unwelcome and demeaning. I am capable of healing a few cuts and bruises,' he snarled. 'You, on the other hand, are a fifteen year old gi –'

'Sixteen, sir,' she corrected him. 'I'll be seventeen in less than a fortnight.'

'That's irrelevant!' he shouted, banging his hand on the desk in front of him. His wrist caught the sharp edge of the table, but if he hurt himself, he didn't show it as he continued to glare at her. 'To be blunt, Miss Granger, you are not a medical advisor, nor an Auror, nor even a high ranking member of the Order and, as such, your queries are patronising and infuriating. Now go.'

'But sir –'

'Go!'

She swallowed a retort and, without another word, she shut the heavy classroom door behind her.

She ate very little at dinner that night as she mulled over their encounter. She did not know why she felt the need to smother him with her anxiety and concern as it only seemed to fuel his patronising manner. For years, he was nothing more to her than her least favourite teacher, a frequent bully and, on more than one occasion, she had believed him to responsible for dark and dangerous activity within the castle. But, something had changed. The night he had been summoned had awoken a deep sympathy within her. The precarious position of his life, wedged between Dumbledore and Voldemort, became apparent to her and Hermione had seen the fear in his face upon being summoned that evening.

He viewed her concern as impertinence, but Hermione was incapable of keeping her thoughts to herself. She knew that it would be wise to seek guidance from a medical expert – Voldemort's curses could no doubt be more dangerous than they appeared on the surface – but she knew that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was far too stubborn and arrogant to seek the help of another.

Hermione thought of Professor Dumbledore's withered hand and shivered. The power required to cause a limb to die was immense and she had no doubt in her mind that Voldemort was responsible. She wondered briefly if the damage was more serious than a blackened, useless hand. It was all too likely that Professor Snape's wounds were more serious than they appeared.

As her thoughts processed Dumbledore's name, she remembered the Order of the Phoenix meeting and she felt a surge of curiosity and anxiety at the thought of what would be revealed. Good news would be rare during these meetings and Hermione wondered how she and her friends would cope with the onslaught of news of death and destruction.

'You alright, Hermione?' asked Harry curiously. 'You seem a bit quiet.'

'I'm fine,' she said, attempting to smile. 'Just wondering…what do you think they'll say at the meeting tonight?'

'I dunno,' said Ron, shovelling meringue into his mouth. 'I wouldn't mind finding out what Snape's been up to…how did he get all those cuts on his face?'

'Talking about Snape?' asked Ginny, who appeared suddenly beside them. She sat next to Hermione and began to pile meringue onto her plate. 'Yeah, he looks dreadful. What kind of hex would do that to his face?'

'Dark magic, I'd imagine,' muttered Hermione.

'If it _was_ magic,' said Harry shrewdly. 'I wouldn't put it past You-Know-Who to switch to more old-fashioned means of torture, using a butcher knife.'

'I can't imagine You-Know-Who using anything but magic,' said Ron.

'Ron's right...Magic can reach a lot deeper than just physical pain,' said Hermione.

'How –' began Harry.

'Let's stop this conversation,' said Ginny with a shiver. 'I won't be able to sleep tonight.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione remained in the Great Hall, long after the plates of food had disappeared, until Professor McGonagall came to escort them to the meeting.

'Come along, you three,' she said briskly, pursing her lips, as she stalked past the Gryffindor table. They swiftly got to their feet and hurried after her.

They followed her up the many swivelling staircases that led to her study, where the ancient, dirty fireplace stood, next to the grimy, terracotta-coloured flower pot containing the green, sparkling Floo powder. Hermione hated travelling by Floo powder almost as much as she hated travelling by broom or Thestral. She sincerely hoped that Apparating would be a lot more comfortable when they began their Apparating lessons next term. With a grimace, Hermione stepped into the emerald green flames and was transported to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

><p>After brushing the ash from her robes, Hermione followed Harry and Ron into the kitchen where the three of them sat on one side of the table. To her surprise, Hermione saw Sybill Trelawney seated opposite her, between Remus Lupin and Fleur Delacour. The Divination teacher hardly ever left her tower room, even during meal times, and so her presence at the meeting was unexpected.<p>

Professor Trelawney's head swivelled in her direction and met Hermione's stare. Her eyes were magnified by her huge, thick-rimmed glasses, making it difficult to read her expression, but she seemed to be looking at Hermione with intense curiosity. However, Hermione _had_ made a rather dramatic exit from the Divination classroom, when she dropped it, and so it was more than likely that Sybill was merely eyeing her with dislike.

Hermione craned her neck to look at the other Order members seated further along the table. Her eyes caught sight of the tall, pointed hat of Professor McGonagall and noted that her Head of House was also looking at the Divination teacher with uncertainty and slight disapproval. Professor McGonagall's low regard for Divination was common knowledge amongst the students at Hogwarts.

As the rest of the Order members filed into the kitchen, several of whom nodded politely to Hermione, the Headmaster stood at one end of the table and silence filled the grimy kitchen. As Hermione peered round at the rest of the Order members, she noticed that she and McGonagall were not the only ones staring curiously at the Divination teacher.

'As most of you have noticed, we are joined tonight by Professor Sybill Trelawney. Sybill's area of expertise lies in the art of Divination.'

There was an audible sniff from Professor McGonagall.

Ignoring this interruption, the Headmaster continued.

'The reason for her attendance here tonight is because her abilities have allowed her to pick up on Tom's most recent strategy.'

Hermione blinked with puzzlement before remembering to whom Dumbledore was referring. It was surreal to hear Voldemort referred to by his real name. In her mind, it seemed so absurd that a wizard who evoked so much fear and terror throughout the wizarding world could have a name as ordinary and commonplace and…M_uggle_-sounding as Tom.

'His plan last year to lure Harry into his midst by using Sirius as bait proved to be rather effective and would have even been successful, had it not been for his foolish attempt to possess Harry.'

Hermione felt Harry tense slightly at the mention of Sirius' name and the events that took place last summer. She reached under the table and squeezed his hand comfortingly – a gesture that caused Professor Snape's head to twist sharply in their direction.

'As a result of this,' Dumbledore continued, 'his plans will now centre on Harry's close friends and loved ones –'

'But, Albus, Divination is hardly a…_reliable_ source of information. Sybill may simply have been dreaming or…' She faltered as she received an angry glare from the Divination teacher. 'Or You-Know-Who could have easily planted this plan in her mind. Perhaps he _wants_ the Order to focus its time and resources on protecting all of those close to Potter, allowing his other plans to proceed unnoticed.'

'I, too, have difficulty accepting this information as..._gospel_. The Dark Lord has related no such plans to any of the Death Eaters. Potter seems to be of little concern to the Dark Lord, at the present time,' said Professor Snape carefully.

'Voldemort is no fool, Severus,' replied the Headmaster. 'I doubt that he is prepared to put all his eggs in one basket…Particularly one that spends so much time dangling on _my_ arm.'

The Headmaster eyed the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with a hardened expression, whilst Fleur Delacour raised her eyebrows in complete perplexity at the English idiom relating to eggs and baskets. Snape's eyes narrowed as his black eyes locked onto those of the Headmaster.

'Are you insinuating that I have been clumsy in concealing my true loyalties?' retorted Snape as his anger mounted. Hermione exhaled lightly; at least she wasn't the only one bearing the brunt of his temper these days.

'Not at all, Severus. I am merely suggesting that Voldemort has decided to keep several of his most important schemes under wraps, out of fear that they reach the wrong ears. He spends much time at Malfoy Manor, where it would be only too easy for someone to overhear if he were to broadcast his plans.'

Snape kept quiet, but his scowl remained. Harry's interest seemed to have perked at the mention of the Malfoys; he was of the belief that Draco had replaced his father as a Death Eater and was hell-bent on proving it, despite how often Hermione and Ron interjected with rational thinking.

Draco was only sixteen and ham-fisted, compared to the accomplished wizards and witches among Voldemort's ranks. They possessed sly intelligence and subtlety, as well as a streak of selfishness. The only trait that Draco shared with them was pride and egocentricity. With that thought in mind, Hermione elbowed Harry lightly in the side, willing him to keep his mouth shut.

'Regardless of whether Sybill's…_vision_ is accurate or not, it would be wise to take the safety of Harry's close friends into account. There is no proof that Voldemort would _not_ hesitate to take advantage of Harry's care for his friends,' interjected Remus Lupin.

'Then, in that case, what are we going to do about Miss Granger and Mr Weasley?' inquired Professor McGonagall. 'Surely if You-Know-Who decided to go after Potter's close friends, Miss Granger and Mr Weasley would be his first targets.'

'Unfortunately there is a limited amount we can do,' replied the Headmaster. 'Voldemort's growing power has reduced the safety of many places. The Fidelius charm that this house possesses makes Grimmauld Place the most secure location, to my knowledge. I even fear for the protection of Hogwarts…But it seems that, for now, Hogwarts still holds some degree of security and we would not want to disturb their studies, in spite of the current turmoil of the wizarding world.'

'Perhaps...to further ensure the safety of our newest members, we ought to postpone their admission until they have_ completed_ their education at Hogwarts –'

'Severus,' replied the Headmaster. The slightest hint of a warning lingered in his tone. 'We have already had this discussion and, as I told you last summer, these three students have earned their place in this room. I will hear no more on the subject.'

'So…Ron and I can stay at Hogwarts?' asked Hermione tentatively.

Professor McGonagall nodded.

Professor Snape made a strange sound between a snarl and a grunt, but his surly expression was directed at the corner of the table.

'Hogsmeade Village is, however, out of the question,' McGonagall added sternly. 'Unless Sybill's vision..._changes_.'

For the next hour, Hermione listened eagerly to the Order's discussion of the repairs that they would have to make to the Muggle world. It was becoming something of a hobby for Death Eaters to tear down Muggle towns, much to the perplexity of the architects. She would not be involved in this task, due to the time-consuming nature of her studies at Hogwarts. As well as this, they did not know half of the spells required to make the repairs. Her brain briefly caught snippets of the discussion involving memory charms and complex building structural repair spells. She could not help but wonder why the Order was carrying out this laborious task. Wasn't that one of the Ministry's duties?

She scanned the faces of the witches and wizards around her, most of whom were watching Dumbledore with rapt attention as he continued to deliver the problems that the wizarding world faced. No mention ever came of Snape's wounds, which he had acquired the night before. She continued to listen to Dumbledore's account of the damage that had been inflicted upon Linlithgow Palace in Scotland, but her eyes continued to dart towards the scowling form of Professor Snape.

Perhaps, the events surrounding the source of his wounds were not of great significance. Their time was almost up and, still, Dumbledore had made no reference to his injuries. Hermione focused her attention on Professor Snape: he was unusually silent and his eyes refused to meet those of his colleagues. His right hand was curled into a fist that lay on the table surface while his left hand rested on his knee and his eyes seemed focused on the wooden table in front.

Hermione did not realise that the meeting was over until the sound of numerous chairs scraping across the floor upended her train of thought.

'Miss Granger, a word, if you don't mind,' Snape hissed in her ear as he strode past her, after the Order members had vacated.

She followed him out of the kitchen and through a door on the left, which led to, what seemed to be, a small study. As she continued to follow him into the room, her attention was captured by the rows of books that covered the wall. Not Muggle tomes, she realised, by their strange and curious titles.

Turning her head, she saw that every wall seemed to be completely plastered with books bound in torn, navy leather. As she examined the titles nearest her, she did not realise that Professor Snape had stopped and walked straight into his chest.

'Your recent need for proximity is touching, Miss Granger, but could you please move _back_,' he snapped sarcastically, stepping away from her.

'Sorry, sir,' she apologised, jumping away from him as if he had scalded her.

'Humph.' He turned slightly so that he was facing one of the rows of books, but he did not seem to focus on their titles; his expression was blank and, though his eyes were open, his thoughts seemed to be miles away from the dusty study of Grimmauld Place.

'I am unable to keep our appointment that we had arranged for next Monday –'

'Why not?' she inquired. She regretted it instantly as he eyed her sharply, turning away from the bookshelves.

'If your impertinence and interruptions continue, you will be deeply sorry. Do not interrupt me…and with regard to my engagement, that is none of your business.' She blushed and ducked her head. 'As I was saying, I will have to postpone our meeting, unless you are free to discuss your dissertation tonight?'

Her bones ached with fatigue and Hermione wanted nothing more than to reacquaint herself with the softness of her bed. Nevertheless, her inner know-it-all was desperate to show off the work and planning that she had taken in preparation for her dissertation.

'Miss Granger, will you give me an answer instead of staring at me gormlessly?'

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and silently wondered if they would ever have a conversation during which she would not endure some degree of embarrassment.

'I…er – tonight's fine, sir,' she said quickly.

'Good. When we get back to the school, collect your plans and bring them to my classroom.'

He gestured for her to exit the study before him and she stepped out into the hall.

'Don't take too long, Miss Granger,' he muttered, behind her, as she stepped into the fireplace.

Hermione beamed broadly at the sight of her dissertation outline and plans spread out on the desk in front of her. Professor Snape sat in his usual seat, studying the numerous sheets of parchment, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

'Hmm…your preparation seems…_adequate_.'

Hermione glowed; 'adequate' was high praise coming from the irritable man beside her.

'Let's hope the final outcome proves to be the same. Now you may go to my private stores and collect the ingredients and appropriate apparatus.'

Hermione nodded and scurried off in the direction of the storeroom whilst he flicked lazily through the sheets of parchment, on which she had copied out the brewing process of Amortentia in her neatest handwriting.

She returned moments later, heavily waylaid, with numerous jars of various ingredients and a pair of heavy, brass scales balancing in her arms. Amortentia was a complicated potion to brew, involving many ingredients and stages.

Professor Snape looked up from his desk, shaking his head disbelievingly and moved from behind his desk towards her.

'Foolish girl. I see that you're…_keen_, but there's no need to risk injuring yourself, which would be exceptionally time wasting...not to mention if you broke all of those jars, which, might I add, cost more than you'll ever make in a lifetime.' He took the pair of scales from the overflowing load in her arms. 'Let's hope you're not this careless when it comes to the actual brewing of the –'

He went to place the scales on a desk but, before he could reach it, the scales slid from his grasp and fell onto the floor.

'Professor! Is it the –'

'Yes,' he snapped, ignoring the broken scales.

He was paler than usual and breathing heavily.

'He's angry.' He spoke so quietly that, for a second, Hermione thought she imagined it, but worry was imprinted on his face.

'Do you need to go?' she asked childishly as she stepped towards him. She awaited a sarcastic retort, but, as she looked at his pale, worried face, she knew he was not the sarcastic, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher that she knew him to be.

'I have no option.'

'Do you think – will he hurt you?' she gulped.

He made a strange movement that would have looked almost like a shrug if it had not been for the grimace on his face. His hand passed over his face and, as he did so, Hermione caught sight of a weariness that she had never seen before. It was fearful and almost childlike and Hermione wanted nothing more than for him to return to the person she had always known him to be – intimidating, fearless and in control.

'I – I'm scared for you.'

He went to retrieve his thick, travelling cloak from the back of his chair, but stopped as he processed her words. Silence passed for a second, before he suddenly jerked into action and fastened the cloak around his neck.

'Goodnight.'

Hermione dithered. Again, she was in the dilemma of not knowing whether to leave or not. He hadn't explicitly told her to leave. However, he would not expect her to stay behind…Or would he?

He was well aware, by now, of her Gryffindor bravery and concern for others. Those qualities were probably the reason for which she aggravated him so much...

She pulled out her wand and bent over the broken scales.

'Reparo.' With trembling hands, she placed the repaired scales on the table and wandered over to Professor Snape's desk to retrieve the instructions on how to prepare the ingredients of Amortentia.

Submerging herself into the complex task of weighing ingredients, as well as heating the mixture at the right temperature, she began to chop, slice and crush the contents of the jars. It was an adequate distraction from her thoughts and concerns as she concentrated solely on following the instructions.

A faint pink mist begin to emanate from the potion along with a spicy musk that made her stomach leap with pleasure. As the beautiful scent filled her nostrils, Hermione allowed her mind to wander, letting it drift away from the list of instructions.

However, as her thoughts turned to Professor Snape, the fear that boiled in the pit of her stomach returned. She shook herself and concentrated on the instructions, keeping her mind trained on the task at hand.

The pink mist had turned to thick pink fog and the scent that it released became even more intoxicating. It filled her senses; calming the extreme anxiety that she felt, and creating a sensation of dreamy relaxation…

It was only when she heard a noise at the door that this feeling evaporated.

He looked awful as he staggered through the doorway and into the classroom.


	5. Chapter Five

His face was marred with fresh cuts and bruises and his black robes were scarred with gaping slashes. His skin, beneath the ripped material, was smeared with blood. His whole body was shaking and even standing seemed to be a strain. He sank to his knees on the cold, stone floor and bowed his head, concentrating on controlling his shaky breathing.

Hermione flung herself next to him on the floor and, as if forgetting who he was, wrapped her arms around his black clad form. Her eyes welled with tears as she listened to his trembling exhalation of breath from underneath his hair.

It was a mark of how badly injured he was that he didn't throw off her embrace.

The rank, metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils, yet she did not let go of him.

'What happened?' Her voice cracked as she spoke. He raised his head slightly so that his eyes were level with the corner of the table, but he did not reply and merely shook his head.

She wondered briefly if she should call for another teacher. Professor Slughorn had taken up residence in another part of the castle, choosing not to live in the cold, dark dungeons. But if she had learned anything from her time spent with Professor Snape, it was that he would definitely not appreciate other members of the faculty seeing him in such a state. The fact that had a student had witnessed him in such a vulnerable position would be cause for a great deal of embarrassment and anger, on his part.

'I'll be back in a moment, Professor.'

Hermione took the liberty of entering his adjoining, private rooms, through a heavy wooden door near the corner of the classroom. She briefly registered what seemed to be a living room of sorts, which emanated a warm and pleasant atmosphere, differing greatly from the atmosphere of the dungeon classrooms. The hard floor was carpeted with a light shade of teal and the room was occupied by two low, dark green armchairs and a small, mahogany table as well as an antique fireplace.

She walked across the room to the door, which stood directly opposite from the one that she had just entered through, to discover a small, tidy kitchen, where she filled a glass that was resting by the sink with icy, cold water. Her hands shook as she retraced her steps to the classroom, slopping water everywhere as she moved. She no longer cared if he shouted at her for intruding upon his privacy because, in spite of everything that he might say, he needed her help.

He remained crouched on the cold, hard dungeon floor, where she knelt beside him and pressed the glass into his shaking hand. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher tilted his head backwards to drink from the glass and, as he did so, his latest injuries were thrown into sharp relief. Hermione let out an involuntary gasp and her hands shot to her face and cupped her mouth.

Blood was trickling down his face at the same speed as the tears that had started to stream down Hermione's face. His eyes swivelled towards her and he shook his head very slightly. She instantly interpreted this gesture as one of annoyance at her emotions, but his eyes were not filled with irritation; they were calm and reassuring. This attempt to reassure her made her cry harder. It took a few moments for Hermione to compose herself and jerk into action. She had to get him off of the hard stone floor.

Professor Snape allowed her to slide her arms underneath his and haul him to his feet. She led him through the door of his private rooms and into one of the low armchairs, whilst he leaned most of his weight against her. As he supported himself against her, Hermione was vaguely reminded of the part in _Jane Eyre_, the Muggle novel, when Mr. Rochester calls on Jane to help him to his horse, after spraining his ankle. Professor Snape's weak condition, and his need for her help, seemed highly reminiscent of the character in the Muggle classic. In fact, there were many similarities between the fictional, Muggle Mr. Rochester and the very real Professor Snape.

He gasped as she lowered him gently into the armchair and, as he sat, slight colour began to fill his cheeks and his breathing began to sound less heavy and strenuous.

Hermione managed to locate his bathroom and began to fill the claw-footed bath tub with hot water; he would be too weak to stand and use the shower. When she returned to his side, he was sitting upright in his chair, staring intensely at the glass in his hand. She cleared her throat gently as if to remind him of her presence.

'Sir, I've filled the bath with hot water for you…' She trailed off, unsure of whether to offer assistance or not. He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak but, reconsidering, he then closed it and merely nodded. Hermione knew that he would be feeling embarrassed and, possibly, quite furious at being caught, and helped, by a student in such a state. His reputation as the feared, ruthless teacher was one he clearly cherished. However, as he attempted to stand on his own, his entire body began to tremble and Hermione's arm shot around his waist to steady him.

'Sir…Let me help you.'

As they reached the door of the bathroom, he twisted his body slightly out of Hermione's grip and clutched the door-frame instead.

'I no longer require your assistance,' he said hoarsely before closing the door.

Hermione leaned against the wall and bit her lip, mulling over her next actions. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was midnight and well past curfew. She decided to linger, anxious to see that Professor Snape could make it into his bed without injury. He could barely walk without assistance. She remembered the tube of healing salve that lay at the bottom of her trunk. It had cured the bruise caused by the punching telescope at the Burrow. Using the summoning charm that she had helped Harry with, prior to the Triwizard Tournament, she sent the tube flying through the open classroom door into her hand and slid it into her pocket.

Hermione walked slowly back into his living room, trying to control her thoughts.

She did not know what had provoked Voldemort's anger, but, as she ran through the various possibilities in her head, she started to feel queasy with worry. Unlike her friends' magical families, her own family did not have the protection that magic offered. Every attack or act of destruction upon the Muggle world stirred fear and anxiety in her. Her parents, at least, were aware of the fact that other dark, unfathomable powers were at work and that poor architectural planning and construction were not responsible for the recent collapses of buildings and towns around the country. Yet, this did not ease Hermione's constant concern for her parents' safety.

Targeting Muggle families had definitely not stretched beyond the limits of the Death Eaters and it seemed to be one of their favourite pastimes if the news reported by the Daily Prophet was anything to go by.

Retrieving the empty glass from the low table beside the armchair, Hermione decided that action was the only way to keep her mind off of her worries. She washed the glass by hand in the kitchen sink, leaving her wand in the pocket of her robes.

Her fingers traced the edges of the sink as she pondered over the décor of his private rooms. Like every other part of the castle; they were grand and historic, except with a few, modern touches. It felt strange to be standing in the middle of a teacher's private quarters, especially when she considered the fact that they belonged to the formidable Defence Against the Dark Art's teacher. Hermione wondered how he would react to her presence. As she recalled the bleeding, fragile state in which he returned to the classroom, she almost hoped that he would bellow at her. The fact that he had failed to shout at her upon his return showed that he was not his usual self as well as the extent to which he had been hurt.

The click of the bathroom door pulled Hermione from her reverie and she stepped out of the kitchen to check on him.

A white towel was wrapped around his waist, revealing his bare torso and calves. He looked a lot stronger than he had done as he stood upright and straight-backed. His hand gripped the door-frame while his other held his towel in place, but he did not tremble. Hermione refrained from dwelling on the other things that she was noticing about him.

Even without his usual layers of teaching robes, he managed to emanate a sense of power and authority. His pale torso was beaded with droplets of water, which glittered in the dim light, and the wet hairs on his calves glistened. His eyebrows were furrowed together as he looked at her, and his wet locks hung around his face as if he had stepped out of a storm.

'I would ask_ why_ you are still here, Miss Granger, but there doesn't seem to be much point in doing so,' he said as he looked at her.

'No, sir. There isn't,' she said, smiling slightly.

'I assumed as much…Your Gryffindor set of morals and need to act the hero are becoming something of a nuisance,' he muttered.

He stalked towards his bedroom and closed the door as Hermione stood waiting, wondering if his words were her cue to return to her dormitory.

However, he returned moments later dressed in a long, grey nightshirt. His hair was dry and framed his pale face in its usual manner. He motioned for Hermione to follow him into the living room, where he sat down in the armchair that he had recently vacated. He withdrew a phial from a pocket in his nightshirt and placed it on the table. Hermione recognised it as the potion that Madam Pomfrey had given to Neville after the fight at the Ministry. The potion was meant to ease the effects of the torture curse.

'The Cruciatus curse?' she asked in a small whisper as he lifted the phial to his lips.

'How observant of you, Miss Granger,' he replied in a voice that was not completely void of sarcasm. After draining the potion, Professor Snape replaced the phial on the table and stared at her.

'Thank you for your…_assistance_ this evening, Miss Granger. I feel it unnecessary to state that should you repeat the events that you have witnessed tonight, in this classroom, to any of your peers, I shall –'

'I have no intention of telling anyone, sir,' she replied stiffly.

He nodded briskly.

'You may go.'

'Are you cert –'

'Miss Granger,' he cut through her. ' I have asked you to leave. Do it.'

'At least, take this!' she said, thrusting the thick tube of healing salve towards him.

'What's this?'

'Bruise-remover,' she replied. 'Fred and George Weasley gave me it after I was hit in the face by one of their punching telescopes.'

His lips quirked upwards slightly, as if he was going to laugh, but quickly rearranged themselves into their usual grimace.

'I'd rather not use something created by the _Weasleys_.'

Hermione ignored the hint of scorn that he put into those two syllables.

'Trust me, it works. The bruise had disappeared within an hour of applying it.'

Reluctantly, Professor Snape reached forward and picked up the tube, eyeing her suspiciously. He squeezed a sliver of the thick, yellow paste onto his fingertips and raised them towards his face. With gentle, circular movements, he massaged the paste into his bruised skin, which absorbed the bruise-remover instantly, leaving his face with a slight glow. Her eyes followed his fingers as they lightly kneaded the paste into the soft skin above his cheekbones.

When he had finished, the dark bruises had faded to light smudges of mauve. He nodded slightly, which she took as his way of expressing gratitude.

His eyes lifted to her own and, the moment that their eyes connected, she was reminded instantly of what she had dreamt the previous night. She recalled the intimacy that she had felt between them as their eyes had met. It had seemed so long ago. As did the Order meeting. Events that had happened within a mere twenty-four hours seemed like years ago.

His direct and penetrating stare pulled her back into the present. As he stared at her, she took the liberty of his looking into his eyes; they had lost some of their darkness, lightening to a darker shade of brown as opposed to their usual black.

'You are hiding something from me,' he said plainly.

'What?'

'In your mind…it's like a wide, dark cloud is stretching across it like a shield. I can't penetrate it.'

'Don't try to read my thoughts!' She looked aghast at his attempt to intrude upon her reflections.

'You have something to hide?'

'On the contrary, sir, I just don't like the idea of someone rooting around in my head.'

She blushed as he smirked.

'You have nothing to fear, if you have nothing to hide.'

'Why are you in my head anyway?'

'I – It was not my intention to look into your mind. We made eye-contact and…' He then cleared his throat slightly as if embarrassed. She supposed that he was justified in being embarrassed: he was sitting in his private rooms with a student, after hours, in his night-clothes, after she had seen him wearing nothing other than a mere towel. 'You make a better Occlumens than Potter.'

Hermione was on the verge of defending her friend. If Snape had not erratically refused to continue teaching Harry then maybe he would have succeeded. But, she realised, Professor Snape was merely complimenting her; it was not a conscious attempt to undermine Harry. He smirked as if he understood her mental debate on whether to snub him or not. Maybe this was the time to ask him about what had _actually_ happened during Harry's Occlumency lessons…

'Professor, can I ask –'

'I know that you are going to, with or without my permission…'

She opened her mouth to ask the question that was on her mind, but decided against it; he was tired and could quite easily slip into a foul temper at any mention of Harry.

'Why is the Order getting involved in repairing the damage to the Muggle world, isn't that the Ministry's job?' she asked. Professor Snape's eyebrows rose slightly, in surprise, as if her question was not the one that he was expecting. 'Also, what happened last night? Well…I mean – I know where you were and who you were with…but why did…he do that to you?' She did not want to ask about the events that had taken place tonight, for they were far too fresh in his mind. However, she secretly hoped that, if he proved willing, he would explain them to her without the need to ask.

'You do realise if anyone else were asking these prying questions, I would –'

'But nobody else is asking; _I'm_ asking,' she replied calmly.

He scowled at her, before opening his mouth to speak.

'The Headmaster grows increasingly mistrustful of the Ministry's actions…he believes that the Dark Lord may have already planted his seeds within its foundations as part of his plan to infiltrate the Ministry and, ultimately, assume total control.'

'Is that true? Do you believe..._he_ wants Scrimgeour's power?'

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. It was hard to imagine Voldemort sitting behind a desk in the Ministry of Magic.

'Naturally, the Dark Lord does not want to have to do all the tedious paperwork involved in running the Ministry – he has Death Eaters who will do that for him. But the influence of the Daily Prophet and to have hundreds of Ministry employees under his control is something that he greatly desires,' he said.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. 'Did you just read my mind?'

'I caught the general gist of what was troubling you from your facial expressions. As well as your mind, it is important that your features remain utterly blank, lest your eyes betray your secrets.'

Hermione spent several moments trying to school her features into a dead-pan stare.

'Now, you look Imperiused,' he said with a smirk.

Hermione scowled at him.

'His plan backfired last summer when his…_resurrection_, I suppose you could call it, was brought to the media's attention. Nevertheless, if he can gain control of the Ministry, unnoticed, then his plan will be just as successful,' he continued.

'But everyone knows that Voldemort's back…'

'Do _not_ say that name.'

'...if the Ministry starts making drastic changes to their policies, surely everyone will figure out what has happened?' she reasoned.

'The Dark Lord will be subtle in his attempts…Imperius curses will be placed on important Ministry officials and these former paragons of integrity will become mere puppets dangling on strings to be pulled by the Death Eaters. However, the Headmaster will know for sure if he succeeds as he already has his suspicions. But, to the people of the wizarding world, the Ministry of Magic is a steadfast, impenetrable source of moral justice; many will simply refuse to believe that the Dark Lord has succeeded in infiltrating the Ministry. It is also necessary to consider that, if the Dark Lord has absolute control of the Ministry, there is not much that people can do to rebel…they will have all of the Ministry's power and more.'

'They'd be able to access information about every single witch and wizard…as well as their families…' Hermione shivered at the thought. 'How likely is it that he will –'

'We have discussed this enough…' he said firmly, lowering his eyes as if sensing her trepidation. She exhaled heavily, as she realised that this would be all that he would tell her.

Then to her surprise, he spoke again. 'With regard to your question about my whereabouts last night, I was merely an obstacle in a duel that took place between Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange…I understand that your friends met Bellatrix last summer,' he added quietly.

'They – they're married, aren't they?' she asked. She first learned of Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' cousin and killer, from a photograph in the Daily Prophet. The witch was tall and foreboding with long, dark hair that melted into her long, flowing dark robes. Her first impression of the witch was that she was very beautiful, with her heavy-lidded eyes and pale skin. However, in the way she moved in the picture, her sadism and brutality emerged and she dropped all human-like resemblances as well as her good looks.

What frightened Hermione the most was the blatant excitement that she took in torturing others. After killing Sirius, she had taken smug satisfaction in Harry's agony and the irreparable pain that she had caused. In fact, she reminded Hermione very much of Bertha Rochester in _Jane Eyre_, as she, too, was wild, mad and vicious with barely any human traits left in her at all. Nevertheless, the character of Bertha evoked a certain amount of sympathy, which Bellatrix did not.

'Yes, but the typical connotations of marriage do not apply here. Their union was only a means of conforming to the norm of the upper-class, pure-blood families…The Dark Lord had sent us to a Muggle suburb, by Portkey, where –' He stopped as he caught sight of Hermione's wide-eyed expression at the mention of Muggles.

'That is sufficient…' he muttered, tearing his gaze away from her. 'These are matters to be discussed between myself and the Headmaster, alone. The…_disturbing_ nature of the Death Eaters' gatherings prevents Albus from relating many of my encounters with the Dark Lord to the rest of the Order…not even the Order could stomach the details of the events which take place. He tells them only what he needs to.'

'Please…tell me what happened,' she said. Her eyes were imploring him to speak.

He looked at her and his eyes were heavy with regret and he opened his mouth to continue.

'As I was saying…we arrived in a Muggle suburb near the home of a Muggle-born, Ministry wizard, who the Dark Lord wished to interrogate. Our orders were to seize him, once he had left the house, and take him to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord would have then interrogated him and Obliviated him –'

'That seems incredibly…_merciful_ of him, considering his usual tactics…' Hermione pondered aloud.

'If the Dark Lord were to kill him, his absence would be noticed and made known to the wizarding world, which would create doubt and suspicion of the Ministry's security. It is _crucial_, to the Dark Lord's plan, that the Ministry continues to be seen as the reliable, governing body of the magical community. However, Bellatrix, as blood-thirsty as always, grew impatient with the need for caution. She was on the brink of taking him by force and killing the rest of his family, until Rodolphus' hex knocked her wand from her hand…Snarling and seething with anger, she retrieved her wand and that was when I interjected. I did not want the commotion to be noticed by the family inside the house...nor did I want to see Rodolphus killed.'

Hermione face screwed up in disbelief.

'But sir, he's a – a –'

'Death Eater. Like me,' he said plainly, looking into her eyes as he spoke. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. 'Rodolphus was at Hogwarts with me, along with Lucius. I preferred his company to that of Lucius, who was exceptionally spoilt and greedy and nurtured a penchant for cruelty, which I, even in my youth, never shared. He was a few years my senior and a constant source of friendship and something of a role model. In spite of what he is now, that is the light in which I continue to view him…You must remember, Miss Granger, that I was once like him; my allegiances used to lie entirely with the Dark Lord until…'

He cleared his throat and remained silent.

'Until?' she persisted gently.

'Until I joined the Order.'

'What made you –'

'Enough!' he snapped. But his features lost their severity when she wilted at the return of his usual, authoritative manner. 'Enough questions for tonight,' he added in a low voice.

'Can I ask about what happened tonight, sir?' she asked timidly.

'Tonight is not the time. What did you do with yourself during my absence?' he asked. He was not suspicious; merely curious.

Hermione led him through to the classroom, where the cauldron boiled loudly and violently, emitting sparks from underneath a burning flame.

'You have left it on the heat for too long. I am afraid that you will have to start again, but not tonight,' he said. Hermione could not believe her ears; she didn't even receive a reprimand for wasting the ingredients. 'You may return to your dormitory. Use the Floo Network in my chambers; I am too weary to escort you.'

'Of course, sir. Goodnight.'

As she headed towards the door, she turned round to look at the familiar-looking stranger. He was dressed in a worn, grey nightshirt with black hair that outlined his white face. The snarky, sarcastic, sneering man who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts could not possibly be the same wizard who stood before her, studying her with an expression of serene concentration.

Hermione went to bed that night feeling as if she had overdosed on Fred and George's dream-inducing potion. The entire night's events had seemed like something straight out of her imagination.

She mulled over the insight that Snape had given her into Voldemort's plans and lost no time in informing Harry and Ron of his latest schemes the next morning.

'Did they manage to capture the wizard from the Ministry?'

'I…I don't know, I forgot to ask…' Hermione trailed off pathetically. The realisation that her concern for the Ministry wizard's safety had slipped so easily from her mind shocked her. 'I was more worried about Professor Snape when he said that –'

'You were worried about _Snape_?' Ron asked incredulously. 'That greasy git? His only reason for stopping Bellatrix was probably so he could take out the wizard himself…' Ron muttered angrily.

Hermione was aghast.

'Ron!' she shrieked, causing a few heads to turn in their direction.

'What?' he asked defensively, raising his hands.

'He's a member of the Order! And if he hadn't been there then that wizard and his family would be dead.'

'Sounds like if he hadn't been there then Voldemort's plans would have been scuppered, isn't that the whole point of his role within the Order, Hermione?' Harry interjected darkly.

'Harry, he's a _spy_, if he had gone against Voldemort's orders then he would be dead and we would lose a very valuable source of information…you both are _alright_ aren't you?' Hermione asked tentatively. 'You're both acting a bit…'

'If this is what Snape spends his time doing when he's in Death Eater-mode, don't you think it's slightly suspicious?' asked Ron. 'Why isn't he telling this to the Order? People are dying and Snape's in a position to do something about it and he's not!'

'He can't do anything about it! There's nothing he can do about it, without giving away his position! And there's no point telling the Order about these deaths when nothing could have been done to save them! And Dumbledore knows! It's Dumbledore who chooses what information is essential and what the Order needs to know.'

A group of students passed behind her in a loud rustle of robes as she argued. Harry stabbed his fork into his sausage in frustration at Hermione's retort; she had a valid point, but he still refused to acknowledge that Snape was innocent.

'Every life is worth saving though, Hermione!' Ron said in frustration. 'You're beginning to sound like a Slytherin…' he muttered into his pumpkin juice.

'You're beginning to sound like him,' said Harry darkly, jerking his head to the side and, to Hermione's horror, she realised that it wasn't a group of students who had just walked by them; it was Professor Snape and she had no doubt in her mind that he had heard every word.

He continued to make his way up to the High Table, in a cloud of billowing robes, giving away nothing to suggest that he had overheard. However, once he was seated, his attention was not focused on the plate before him: his eyes were fixed firmly on the three of them and their tête-à-tête.

Hermione's face burned as she met his deadpan stare and it was with alarming speed that the feeling of guilt rose within her like boiling water in a Muggle kettle. Harry was right; he had not mentioned this to the rest of the Order and the painful, blistering sensation in her stomach told her that he did not intend for this information to pass through the ears of the Chosen One and his 'faithful side-kick' either. The news he had told her was definitely meant for her ears alone and it was probably his biggest regret that he had revealed so much.

Hermione gulped and closed her eyes. She felt sick. She could not believe that she had betrayed him. She had not even thought about it; it was only at this point that she understood that he had told her this information in total confidence. Had he not been in such a weak mental, emotional and physical condition, he would have told her nothing. At that moment, she wished that he had told her nothing.

'You…you don't think he overheard do you?' Hermione squeaked. Her voice was small and high-pitched as her fingers frantically tore at the napkin in her lap.

'Who cares,' said Ron dismissively, spearing a tomato with the spines of his fork.

After the three of them had finished their breakfast, they headed for the Quidditch pitch, allowing Harry and Ron to practise before try-outs. However, for Hermione, she was given ample time to mentally agonise about whether he _had_ overheard or if the angry glare was simply because he was annoyed with himself for telling her so much the night before.

As they left the table, Harry and Ron both slid their arms through her own, linking themselves to her to show that they were no longer mad at Hermione for taking Professor Snape's side. She knew that they, personally, could not understand why she cared so much about whether or not he had overheard their conversation. But she was a kind person and hated the thought of betraying anyone's secrets, even a Slytherin and someone as abhorrent as Professor Snape.

But Hermione barely noticed the return to their usual friendly selves as they walked towards the tall stands. She shook her head, trying to focus on Harry and Ron as they tossed the Quaffle back and forward to each other. However, her thoughts were punctuated by guilt inducing memories from that morning.

She remembered the fury on Professor Snape's face as he glared at them from the High Table and the candid way in which she spoke about all that he had told her last night. She wanted desperately for the feeling of guilt to dissipate. She wished she was still in her bed and that she had not even gone down to breakfast. She wished that she had kept her mouth shut. She bowed her head and rubbed her eyes with her hands. Perhaps she deserved to feel this guilty. The physical pain that it brought her didn't even come close to an adequate punishment. She had gone to bed last night with such high hopes for the progress of her dissertation and their friendship. She got on very well with all of her teachers, who delighted in her enthusiasm and intelligence, all bar Snape. The prospect of having such a friendship and relationship, which she shared with her other teachers, with him had filled her with joy.

The cold wind nipped her face and hands but she did not reach for her wand to perform a warming charm. As her mind repeatedly replayed the look of fury on Professor Snape's face, she felt she had no right to ever be warm again. She couldn't believe how careless she had been in betraying his trust.

His absence at dinner was enough to fill her gut with physical pain. Although he scarcely ate in the Great Hall during the weekends, she took his absence personally. She played with the pumpkin pie in front of her, mangling the pastry into revolting lumps, pondering over her dissertation and the reasons for her lessons with Snape. At that point, however, she cared very little for her dissertation as she could only think about how she had completely betrayed his confidence.

Her mother's words 'time heals all wounds' rang in her ears as she moped. But, over the weekend, her pain and regret seemed to intensify as she had nothing to distract her from her guilt.


	6. Chapter Six

Monday arrived on a miserable note that reflected Hermione's mood. Raindrops trickled down the window panes in slow, pathetic dribbles. The shame and remorse that she felt was overwhelming and Hermione could do nothing but stare outside at the grey sky. She knew that Professor Snape would be absent from what he had told her at the Order meeting and the thought of having to endure another day without being able to apologise filled her with dread and a painful feeling of guilt.

Her lessons continued in a daze; she followed the horde of sixth-year students, she ate in the Great Hall and she sat silently during her classes. Harry and Ron noticed her mood, but they assumed that it was all down to the depressing weather that continued outside. The downpour was also the cause of much misery between Harry and Ron as rainy, dreary weather meant less than ideal Quidditch-playing conditions.

'Why's it so bloody _miserable_ outside!' Ron moaned loudly as he stared out the window of the Transfiguration classroom.

Hermione snorted to herself; she wished the weather was the only source of her unhappiness. The three of them left for the library during the period that would have been Defence Against the Dark Arts. Their classmates brightened considerably as they would not have to spend a gloomy hour in the gloomy classroom under the ever watchful stare of the gloomy Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Hermione opened her Potions textbook at random, which flicked to the dog-eared page of the instructions for the brewing of Amortentia. It felt like a blow to her stomach. She couldn't care less about the infernal potion; her only thought was how she had returned his confidence with careless betrayal.

She shook herself. He wouldn't be _hurt_ by a student. He'd be furious and not only with her, but with himself. He wasn't a candid person and the one student who he had confided in had blabbed. He would never open up to her again. In fact, it seemed like he would never even speak to her again.

The day finally came to a close, allowing Hermione to let her brave face collapse and let her emotions take over. But it was not tears of sadness that surfaced, but tears of anger. She was infuriated with herself. Not only had she blabbed; she had blabbed to his two most hated pupils, who reciprocally hated him. He did not see Harry and Ron in the same light as she did. It was almost as if she had spilled Harry's secrets to Malfoy. With this simile in mind, she wrapped herself in her duvet and tried to block out further pangs of conscience.

As she tossed and turned, she willed sleep to overcome her, but memories and thoughts continued to rotate in Hermione's head, sending frequent, sharp stabs of guilt through her stomach.

To make matters worse, Professor Snape did not appear the following day and Hermione's mood began to spiral down a bottomless chute of anguish.

The trio continued to spend their usual Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson time in the library with the other students. Professor Snape had not yet reappeared and it was now Friday afternoon – almost a week had gone by since Hermione had last spoken to him. Her seventeenth birthday had been and gone, but it was hard to truly celebrate amid the pain of self-reproach.

Harry and Ron were playing wizard's chess on a table in a dark corner of the library, away from the penetrating glare of Madam Pince, who was always on the lookout for students neglecting their school work. Hermione sat with them, staring at the stone wall opposite her.

There was a candle placed at the top of the wall, but it was not secured by a candle holder; it was bewitched to float in mid-air. Her eyes followed the dancing movements of the flame and, gradually, her eyes grew heavy and she realised how tired she was. The tumult of her emotions was affecting her sleep, punctuating her slumber with attacks of conscience as the irrepressible feeling of guilt hit her with full force in the small hours of the night.

The slightest blow of wind caused the flame to stretch in the opposite direction. Her neck grew stiff from watching the flame and she rested her head on the glossy oak table and, slowly, her eyes began to close.

* * *

><p>'Harry!...Harry! Wake up, mate! Come on! Oh, Merlin…HARRY!'<p>

Hermione awoke with a jump, ignoring the pain in her neck, to spot Ron, whose voice was ringing in her ears.

Harry was slumped in his chair. His eyes were flickering and his glasses were askew. His body was jerking like a spider clinging desperately to a slippery surface. His movements were out of control, jerky and spasmodic.

'Harry!' Hermione's panicked voice joined Ron's frantic attempts to rouse Harry. 'Ron, what happened?'

'I dunno! He was talking normally and then he just…'

'It looks like he's having a fit!' cried Hermione. 'I'll go get help.'

Rons hands were all over Harry's face, slapping him and attempting to haul his body upright. Hermione's heart raced whilst she watched helplessly as Harry's body jerked uncontrollably. She turned on her heel and made her way along the bookcases to the library doors. Her thoughts went to Snape as she was reminded of the night after the Ministry when Ron had stopped breathing and Snape had cured him.

But, before she had even reached the end of the first bookcase, both Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall were hurrying towards her.

'Potter!' cried McGonagall.

All of the students in the library were looking on in horror, with their hands clasped over their mouths.

Brandishing her wand, Professor McGonagall began to murmur a spell, keeping her eyes fixed on Harry's face.

After what seemed like hours, his body stopped moving and his eyelids slowly began to open.

Ron, Hermione and the two teachers exhaled loudly and heavily as they gaped at him. His breathing was ragged and he was blinking frantically. With what seemed like a great effort he eased himself upright, his body trembling as he did so. He fixed his glasses with shaking hands so they sat straight on his nose.

'Harry! What – What happened, mate?' Ron cried with a great heave of relief.

He looked up at Ron.

'Hermione,' he said. Fear embedded itself within those four syllables.

'Harry! I'm here. What happened? Are you OK – I –'

Even in his trembling, fearful state Harry hooked an arm around her neck and hugged her hard.

'I –' he swallowed thickly. 'I was having another vision…I –' he faltered suddenly as he became aware of the presence of McGonagall and Madam Pince. A feigned look of confusion passed across his face. 'I – I don't remember...Professor.'

McGonagall's nostrils flared.

'Potter,' she said, firmly. 'If you saw something – anything – concerning _You-Know-Who_,' she whispered. 'You _must_ tell us, or at least the Headmaster.'

'I don't remember anything, Professor…I remembered it all one minute, but now…it's gone. I genuinely don't know what I saw.'

The Transfiguration teacher and the librarian exchanged looks of scepticism, before turning to look at him with hard expressions on their faces.

'Come, Potter. You need to go to the hospital wing,' said McGonagall.

It took five minutes for Harry to convince McGonagall that he did not need medical attention.

'I'm fine, now, honestly!' he protested.

She pursed her lips and stared at him through narrow eyes.

'The Headmaster will be informed of this,' she said curtly and, on that note, she turned and exited the library.

'Everyone!' cried Madam Pince to the students, who had been eagerly watching the whole exchange. 'Back to your work! There's nothing more to see.'

'Come on,' Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Harry got to his feet and followed Ron out of the library and Hermione hurried behind them.

'Wait, Ron! In here!' cried Hermione as they passed by a familiar-looking door.

'Not the bloody girls' toilets, again!' Ron exclaimed.

Hermione turned to give him a defiant look.

'Do you want to be overheard or not?'

Ron rolled his eyes, but they followed her through the door of the leaky girls' lavatory, experiencing a chilling sensation of déjà-vu as they did so.

'You alright, mate?' Ron asked in a low voice, once they were inside.

Harry leaned against the side-panel of the row of cubicles and nodded.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly, which was a sure indication that she was about to say something that neither Ron nor Harry would appreciate and, in response, Ron shot her a warning glance.

'You should have told them, Harry,' she sighed. 'If you're seeing into…_his_ mind, you have to tell –'

'Well, Hermione, on this particular occasion, I thought you'd be relieved to hear I kept this piece of insight into Voldemort's mind private…considering that it concerned _you_,' Harry retorted.

Hermione's jaw dropped in shock.

'…Me? What would You-Know-Who want with _me_?'

'I don't know, exactly…When I see into his mind, it's not always clear...just fractured images and thoughts and feelings. It was almost as if I could hear the rush of his thoughts…he was thinking about the prophecy…and Lily Potter…my mother's sacrifice…Love…and that somehow led him to thoughts of you…he was thinking about Potter's Mudblood friend…the Granger girl...I –'

Harry stopped as he saw Hermione's face, which was ashen. Hermione shook her head to show that her own safety was not her cause for concern. The word 'Granger' had jolted fear within her like a bolt of lightning. Both Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise; she was normally calm and controlled in the face of danger.

Since Voldemort's rising, the one constant fear that simmered away inside of her was the fear for the lives of her parents. Hermione knew that if her family name was known among the Death Eaters, it would almost certainly occur to them to track them down in order to get to her. Her own safety barely registered, but her fear for her parents was now boiling within her, scalding her insides and threatening to consume her in a fit of panic.

She swallowed several times and tried to speak.

'Harry, if he knows my surname – my parents…You've got to tell Dumbledore,' she whispered. 'They need to be protected. I –'

Her words were lost as the boys encircled her, wrapping their arms around her shoulders.

'Hermione's right,' said Harry firmly. 'Dumbledore needs to know…now.'

Ron nodded curtly, an unusual gesture for him that made him seem so much older and serious. He looked nothing like the mischievous boy with dirt on his nose that Harry and Hermione had met almost six years ago. He exited the toilets and went in search of the Headmaster.

If Professor Dumbledore was surprised at their location, he made no sign of it and simply gazed at Harry.

'Tell me, what did you see?' the Headmaster asked.

Harry described the fragmented thoughts and to their surprise the Headmaster nodded.

'This brings us back to Professor Trelawney's vision,' the Headmaster said gravely.

The trio exchanged bewildered glances; it was unusual for the Headmaster to be taking the Divination teacher's words so seriously and, as far as any of them could see, no sense could be made at all from Trelawney's vision and Voldemort's thoughts.

Dumbledore eyed the three of them carefully.

'If we take the information that Harry has gleaned from Voldemort's mind, we can see that Miss Granger is his prime target, next to Harry of course…Therefore, it is important to consider the relationship between Miss Granger and Mr Potter. What is the connection between Miss Granger and Mr Potter?'

'We're friends, sir,' said Hermione.

'Exactly my point, Miss Granger. Voldemort underestimates many things, but he has recently become aware of the power and the _strength_ that lies in friendship. In the absence of your parents, Harry, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are the closest people to your heart, despite the fact that there is no blood relation. It appears that Voldemort is drawing parallels between Miss Granger and your mother, Harry, and it was Lily Potter's sacrifice that was responsible for his defeat over a decade ago. Voldemort fears that that which defeated him before will defeat him again.'

'Which was?'

'Love.'

The three teenagers stood in silence as they processed this information.

'Nevertheless, this is only my guess…There may well be another motive for targeting Miss Granger, but that hypothesis is certainly the most logical to my mind. However, it shows that, and Sybill's vision proves it, Miss Granger is one of Tom's main targets and precautionary procedures must be taken.'

'Headmaster…' Hermione said, swallowing thickly. 'My parents…They need to be protected, I – I –'

Professor Dumbledore raised his hands and spoke kindly to her, 'The Order shall be informed of the situation, Miss Granger. I will arrange a meeting at Grimmauld Place for tomorrow. Your parents shall not be left defenceless during this time.'

Hermione nodded and gave him a shaky smile.

'Thank you, sir.' She felt relieved that her parents would not be left alone and unprotected, but she wished it was sooner. The Death Eaters could already be at her house, tonight or even earlier.

Shaking her head violently, Hermione tried to rid her mind of the thought as she knew that it would lead to nothing but panic and alarm. With a pang, she realised that there would be no way for her to go see her parents now; it would only be too easy for her to be caught. However, their safety was the only thing that mattered.

'…I shall send word by owl of the meeting times. Until then,' said the Headmaster, before exiting the girls' lavatory. He seemed so much more serious as the strain of upholding the resistance against Voldemort and the Death Eaters continued; he was losing much of his cheerful eccentricity.

'Well…at least he's going to something about it –'

'BOYS! IN THE GIRLS' TOILETS! BOYS IN THE GIRLS' TOILETS!'

'Oh shut up, Myrtle!' shouted Ron angrily, after jumping a foot at the unexpected sound of the spectre's voice, which echoed loudly off of the tiled walls.

She cackled evilly and drifted into their line of vision.

'Hello, Harry,' she smiled coquettishly, pushing her phantom glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

'Hi, Myrtle,' he said wearily, slumping even further down against the wall.

'You promised you'd come to see me and you haven't seen me in ages!' she whined, pushing out her bottom lip.

'Sorry, Myrtle…I've, uh…been busy.'

'It's fine, I've met someone else. He's lovely and sensitive and he tells me things. He shares his woes and I listen…'

'Which toilet does he live in?' asked Ron sarcastically.

Myrtle glared at him.

'You shut up, Ronald _Weasley_! I know all about you _Weasleys_! _He_ told me.'

Ron's ears turned red. Depending on who you listened to the Weasleys were known as either a large, loving family that relied on the power of goodness and love or the poorest of the old pure-blood, wizarding families with more children than they could afford and blood-traitors to boot.

'And you!' she said, turning to Hermione. 'The closest female to Harry's heaaart!' she said in a sing-song voice.

Hermione blanched.

'Myrtle…were you listening to our conversation?' asked Harry.

'I overheard bits and bobs,' she said dreamily, floating over their heads. 'Looks like they'll be printing 'Wanted' posters for you…Mudblood!'

This vehemence was very uncharacteristic of Myrtle and the three of them gasped in shock. Ron responded by telling her to go away in a very crude way.

'Ron!' Hermione reprimanded, but his words had the desired effect and Myrtle began to drift towards her favourite cubicle, still cackling.

'Do you think she did overhear everything?' Hermione asked worriedly.

'She's dead anyway, what can she do?' said Ron fiercely as the toilet flushed loudly, signalling Myrtle's departure.

As Hermione picked at her dinner that night, she realised that this was the first day that she had not worried solely about Snape's absence and his refusal to speak to her. Her new worries, however, were not a welcome distraction.

The next day, Hermione awoke to the sound of an owl hooting loudly and pecking at her hand.

'Ouch!' she squeaked, before batting the feathery alarm clock away in a sleepy, clumsy gesture. A small folded up piece of parchment lay in front of its tiny orange feet on the night-stand.

As her eyes adjusted to the morning light and her surroundings, she grabbed the piece of parchment eagerly. It was Professor Snape. He had finally forgiven her. Or maybe he had never even heard her in the first place and had simply been too busy to teach.

Her eyes didn't so much as scan the parchment, before looking at the signature. It was signed by the Headmaster, informing her of the Order of the Phoenix meeting that would take place that afternoon. Her heart sank to her stomach as she was reminded of the great peril that her own life, as well as that of her parents, was in.

Before, she was known merely as Harry Potter's best friend, Mudblood and swot. Now, she was Voldemort's second main target, putting herself and all those close to her in danger. She had never been able to identify with Harry more than at that moment, which was strange; they were both completely different aside from their Gryffindor qualities. Harry was an orphan, brought up in a loveless household, or at least, where none of the love was directed towards him. Hermione, on the other hand, was an only child and had been the sole recipient of ample love from both of her parents. They loved having a daughter and her magical abilities had only caused their parental pride to swell.

Since he was born, Harry had been the target of the most dangerous wizard in the world. His status as the Death Eaters' main target had endangered all those whom he loved. Hermione had never even deeply considered her own peril as being one of his friends. But, now, they were both targets, endangering everyone and everything that they loved. Hermione left her dormitory in a melancholy mood and she sincerely hoped that the boys would be there to rouse her from the misery that she felt.

They were there. But they were seated next to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, discussing something Quidditch-related, she guessed, by the foreign words pouring out of their mouths. Hermione sat down next to them, not bothering to interrupt them and reached for a slice of toast.

She tried to look at the silver lining; at least Professor Dumbledore would devise a proper protection scheme for her parents and that would perhaps lessen the fear that she felt for them. Maybe, Hermione thought hopefully, she would also get the chance to speak to the elusive Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and explain how sorry she was. There was no sign of him at the High Table and many of the other teachers seemed to be missing. This not discourage Hermione as she knew that the majority of them were in the Order and so it was highly likely that they were already at Grimmauld Place.

When the trio arrived at Grimmauld Place, the kitchen was as busy as usual. Craning her neck to look around the room, Hermione noted that Professor Snape was the only absentee, which triggered a jolt of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.

_Where could he be?_

She felt anxiety rise within her as she took in the power of each and every single one of the wizards and witches crammed into the room and, not for the first time in her life, she wondered if she was in way above her head. Her eyes swept over Kingsley who stood tall, dark and majestic in thick, flowing blue robes. His smooth face seemed to have acquired a few lines over the past couple of months.

The question shot through her mind as if it had been fired like an arrow straight into her brain. _How many people has he killed? _The war was unlikely to continue totally void of death on both sides and the capability to kill ran through both sides. She knew herself that killing was wrong but in the face of danger could it be justified? Could their mere status as a Death Eater be enough to justify death?

Last year, they had tried to ensure the survival of as many Death Eaters as possible so that they could be captured by the Ministry. But, occasionally, spells could accidentally kill instead of disarm. Hermione realised with alarming speed that every wizard and witch in this room had probably killed, except herself, Harry and Ron. What about Dumbledore? But, as she looked at the Headmaster, she realised that the former eccentric wizard in coloured robes had been replaced by a much, more serious war-scarred man and even she could not convince herself that he was above the need to kill.

_Harry has killed_, she thought. He killed Quirrell with his bare hands and stabbed the memory of Tom Riddle with a Basilisk fang. Could you kill a memory? Had _she_ killed? Her mind had totally forgotten about her and her friends' contribution in the Department of Mysteries…Nobody had released a Killing Curse, but other curses could just as easily cause death. She began to run through the events again in her mind, despite her attempts to block them out over the past few months. She remembered the intensity of her fear and the memory of it alone was enough to make her short of breath and caused her heart to beat faster.

_No_, she thought. They did what was necessary to protect themselves and the wizards that opposed them were cruel and evil and would have done much worse to them, if they had let them get themselves get caught. They enjoyed killing and pain. Before she could stop the thought from forming in her head she wondered if any of the witches and wizards on their side enjoyed it.

Hermione mentally shook herself; there was nothing to be gained from evaluating the moral compass of every witch and wizard on their side. What she needed was their help.

Once everyone was seated, the Headmaster began a speech about the severity of the Death Eaters' movements and how Scrimgeour had been forced to inform the Muggle Prime Minister of the current situation. Hermione felt anxious and restless as he delegated different duties to the Order members. Eventually, her anxiety cut through the Headmasters curt instructions:

'Sir…May I ask…about my parents?'

'It has been taken care of, Miss Granger. Now –'

'Forgive me, Headmaster…but I'd like to know _what_ measures, exactly, have been taken to ensure their safety…if you don't mind, please, sir?' she asked nervously, stumbling over her words. Hermione felt very self-conscious asking so many questions in front of the group of witches and wizards, especially given the fact that she was such a junior member of the Order.

'Miss Granger, I would prefer to not discuss the security measures of your parents at this particular moment, the fewer who know, the securer their position...'

Hermione knew that she should feel relieved at this statement. However, she desperately wanted to know more about his protection plan. Had they moved them to another location? Had they planted wizards in her parents' neighbourhood to watch over them? She wondered if her parents even knew that their lives were in danger. She could not stop her mind from mentally debating whether the Headmaster genuinely did not want to discuss safety precautions in front of so many people or whether he had bigger issues on his mind.

She felt Professor Snape's absence bitterly. Although he was often unkind and a Death Eater spy, she never forgot his streak of protectiveness towards the students or the amount of times that he had saved her and her friends when they had been in danger, even in spite of their mutual dislike.

Hermione remembered the time when he had jumped in front of a werewolf to protect her as well as Harry and Ron. There was also the time, before that, when his muttered counter-course had saved Harry from Quirrell's magic during a Quidditch match. _He_ would take the protection of her parents seriously, even though he currently showed no sign of ever wanting to share oxygen with her ever again. Hermione wanted to know where he was and she wondered whether it was too intrusive to ask about his whereabouts.

Harry and Ron were sitting next to each other on her right hand side, for which she was glad, because on her left sat Remus Lupin. She wondered whether she could ask him.

Eventually, Hermione's mental resolve weakened and her mouth opened before she could stop it.

'Remus,' she whispered. 'I was wondering...Where is Professor Snape?'

Ron and Harry both whipped round to look at her with beady eyes that were narrowed slightly in suspicion. Professor Snape was the last person that anyone asked after and his absence at meetings was not unusual, given his other occupation. She noticed their curiosity and opened her mouth to justify it, but Remus answered before she could speak.

'He is…ah…otherwise engaged.' Remus did not seem as perturbed by Hermione's question as Ron and Harry.

_Otherwise engaged._

Did that mean he was with the other Death Eaters? Or was he simply refusing to be in the same room as her? She shook her head vigorously; was her status as an Order member making her conceited enough to think it possible that Snape would deliberately miss all his lessons to avoid seeing her?

'Now, before we –'

The kitchen door swung on its hinges and the dark figure of Professor Snape strode into the room in a dramatic sweeping movement.

His sopping black robes gleamed like liquorice as he stepped into the light and with a slight jerk of his head, his hair swept backwards, exposing his pale face, which remained passive and expressionless. Hermione could not suppress a feeling of relief and happiness as she looked upon him. It was the first time in days that she had felt slightly happy. She scrutinised his expression, but, as usual, he gave nothing away.

However, Hermione detected a trace of confidence in him that was more pronounced than usual; his usual manner was to sit in such a position so that his hair concealed most of his face from sight, as if trying to morph into one of the shadows of the gloomy kitchen. Today, however, his back was straight and upright as he scanned the witches and wizards sitting around the magically-enlarged table.

He stood at the head of the table beside Dumbledore and the wizened, aged Headmaster seemed to pale in comparison to the tall, striking wizard in black.

Hermione wondered where this surge of confidence and self-assurance stemmed from. He had been with Voldemort, no doubt, as she could tell from the way in which he held his left forearm; close to his body, as if to prevent further injury to it. How could he feel such self-assurance after enduring the wrath of such a wizard? Then again, she pondered, at least with Voldemort he was not met with mistrust and mockery. When he was not with them, he was trapped in the Noble House of Black, belonging to one of his greatest enemies and surrounded by people who made no secret of their distrust and dislike for felt sick at the thought that he had just been in the company of the man who was hunting her parents.

The fact that he was associated with the tightly-knit, motley crew of evil men, and that their association was even branded onto his skin, was enough to make bile rise within her. Hermione reminded herself that, although many were his school friends who offered a source of comfort and sense of belonging to him, he was not like them. She did not even allow her mind to ponder over the depressing thought of how many had he killed; she knew she would not like the answer nor the result of her musings.

His eyes flicked briefly in her direction, but she did not feel reassured by this gesture. In fact, she wondered if he was merely ensuring that everyone had noticed his arrival and were waiting with bated breath for his news.

'I can confirm the Dark Lord's latest development.'

He paused in suspense and the Order members remained silent.

'Miss Granger is a prime target and every piece of information that I can obtain will be valuable and promote my position within his ranks.'

Harry and Ron both rose to their feet, their chairs fell backwards onto the floor as they did so.

'If you even think of telling him_ anything_ about Hermione, so much as her shoe size, we will kill you,' shouted Ron.

'Ronald! Calm yourself!' cried Mrs Weasley, mortified at her youngest son's outburst.

'How does he even _know_ her last name?' asked Harry with a scowl.

Professor Snape seemed almost bored as he looked at the two boys.

'I swear if you –' Ron began angrily.

'What does he know of her, Severus?' Dumbledore interrupted.

'He knows that she is Potter's right hand witch,' he said. 'And, after my input, he knows that she is an insufferable, know-it-all bookworm with no natural talent or unique gift.' He lowered his gaze to look her in the eye and Hermione knew then that he had heard _everything_; he was furious with her.

'We will double the security at Hogwarts…You have done well, Severus, I –'

'Done well?' Ron shouted, sarcastically. 'Now that slimy, snake-faced _bastard_ –sorry, Mum – knows more about Hermione because of _him_.' he cried, pointing a finger at Snape.

'Mr Weasley, though I hate to debase myself by so much as justifying my actions to a sixteen year old boy, I can tell you that I told the Dark Lord no more than he could have gleaned from another, equally accessible source.'

'Yeah?' shouted Harry. 'Well, what do you intend on telling him next time he asks you? You're at Hogwarts as his spy, so what's going to happen when he asks you for more information?'

'Boys, sit down!' shouted Mr Weasley.

'Are you just going to stand there and keep your mouth shut?' continued Harry. 'No, I don't think so! Because you're a coward! And a coward will do anything to save his own skin! Can't you see, Headmaster? He will spill all the information that he can get on Hermione to Voldemort to save his own greasy, pale skin!'

'Enough,' said the Headmaster as Severus advanced towards Harry.

In those two syllables, he managed to embody such severity and authority that everyone fell silent and Harry bowed his head in shame; he knew he had gone too far.

'Given the recent traumatic revelation of Tom's plans concerning Miss Granger, I can forgive you for your otherwise unacceptable outburst, Harry. The three of you were inducted into this Order for the calm and collected way in which you behaved in the Department of Mysteries this summer; if your behaviour proves to be otherwise, then I shall have to stop including you during these meetings.'

'Yes, sir.'

'What else did he want to know about her, Severus?' asked Remus.

'His curiosity seemed to lie in the _nature_ of their relationship,' replied Professor Snape curtly.

'Then it is confirmed,' said Professor Dumbledore heavily. His tall frame seemed to shrink and sag at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's words. 'Tom fears that he will repeat his last mistake.'

'What does this mean, Albus?' asked McGonagall shakily. 'What will You-Know-Who do?'

'For some time, the Dark Lord has been planning an attack on the Ministry of Magic,' replied Professor Snape smoothly. 'Until now. His fear of defeat means that his gaze has turned to Hogwarts. By attacking the school, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters can finally wipe out the Chosen One, Miss Granger and, of course, yourself, Headmaster.'

'What progress has he made with regards to his plans to assume control over the Ministry?'

'None as yet,' replied Professor Snape. 'But his plans will turn to action, soon enough...'

Hermione listened carefully to his words, but resolved to say nothing. She spent the rest of the Order meeting staring down at the black, pleated folds in her skirt, hoping her tears would remain behind her eyelids.


	7. Chapter Seven

The weekend passed in the same black fog of misery, worry, anxiety, regret and shame. Hermione was experiencing every negative emotion in a constant spin cycle as her mind focused on the events of the past week. In addition to the misery that she felt as a result Snape's complete refusal to speak to her – or even acknowledge her – and the concern for the safety of her parents, Hermione's blue period was punctuated by a stab of horror as the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet brought news of more deaths and disappearances.

Nevertheless, despite the staggering volume of disappearances and killings, as well as the devastation occurring throughout the wizarding world, Harry and Ron appeared solely preoccupied with the behaviour of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her two friends spent their entire Sunday discussing Professor Snape and questioning his allegiance to the Order. Hermione did not even have the strength to counter their arguments with rational thinking and, instead, she sat wordlessly in the common room, staring into the fire.

Hermione awoke on Monday morning, dreading another blow-by-blow account of their suspicions concerning Professor Snape. However, as Hermione went down to breakfast that morning, Harry and Ron seemed to have moved on to another favourite conversation topic; Draco Malfoy.

Harry's interest in Draco Malfoy was reaching new heights and he seemed to have succeeded in convincing Ron of his Death Eater theory, judging by the serious expression on Ron's face.

'It just…makes _sense_. Without Lucius, the Malfoy family are useless to Voldemort…oh Ron!' Harry snapped as Ron winced at his use of the name. 'So, in order to generate some use out of the Malfoys, he's taking advantage of Draco's position within Hogwarts! We need to keep an eye on him!'

'Will you keep your voice down, Harry,' hissed Hermione as she strode over to the Gryffindor table, looking anxiously around for any eavesdroppers. The last thing that was needed was for Professor Snape to overhear Harry's suspicions about his star pupil. 'This isn't exactly the best place to be talking about it…Oh, hi, Neville!'

The round-faced boy sat down heavily on the bench opposite them.

'Hi Ron, Harry, Hermione,' he said cheerfully, nodding at each of them. 'Haven't had much time to chat since…we got back.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, looking at him anxiously. 'How are you? Y'know after the whole…'

'I'm fine,' said Neville tensely, swallowing a fried egg whole. 'It was hard at first…I just couldn't sleep well. But Gran's been really supportive…says she's dead proud of me…She even bought me a new wand.' Neville proudly brandished his new wand at them. 'Yeah, I thought she'd be really angry about all the press and attention and stuff...but, she's really happy. She still thinks I'm too young for the Order though…which is fine by me. I'd much rather just focus on my N.E.W.T.s.'

The trio nodded understandingly. Neville's absence at the Order meetings had not gone unnoticed but Harry, Ron and Hermione were all too aware of Neville's formidable grandmother and had no doubt that she would not be best pleased if her only grandson were to join the Order at the mere age of sixteen.

They finished breakfast in silence and it was only when Harry and Ron left the table that Hermione got up and scurried along behind them. Hermione had no idea what lesson they were going to, but she assumed it was Charms given the fact they were walking along the hidden corridor, concealed by a huge, ancient tapestry.

She had changed so much in the past few weeks; she had lost her enthusiasm for her N.E.W.T.s as well as her career. It was as if she had a permanent Dementor stuck to her back, preventing her from feeling anything but pain and misery. Even next to her best friends, she was separated from them by a thick cloak, woven from the anxiety that she felt for her parents and the shame of having betrayed Snape's trust. Hermione had never wanted her parents more in her whole life and the thought was enough to make her want to cry.

As if sensing her mood, Ron linked his arm through her own. His perceptibility to her feelings was always surprising and, although he was not the best at Patronus charms, his tenderness seemed to be putting up a decent fight against the sadness that tormented her. Harry followed suit and hooked his arm around her elbow and, as they all joined together, Hermione felt her heart lighten considerably. She needed the proximity of her friends now more than ever and, together, they walked along the corridor in a peaceful silence.

'All this news about You-Know-Who is making me so anxious. I have this feeling in my gut that something terrible is going to happen,' said Ron eventually.

At that moment, his stomach rumbled loudly, causing the three of them to burst out giggling. Hermione smiled her first genuine smile in over a week.

'No, but seriously, you guys, what's to stop You-Know-Who from getting into Hogwarts?'

Hermione sighed loudly as Harry and Ron began to ponder upon the security measures that Dumbledore had put into place to ensure the protection of the school. She was not going to reiterate the entire passage from _Hogwarts: A History_ dedicated to the safety measures at Hogwarts for the several hundredth time. However, she could not shake off the uneasiness that she felt as she remembered Dumbledore's words: _I even fear for the protection of Hogwarts._

She chased away the thought; she did not want the looming black cloud of negative emotions to overwhelm her again and she clutched tightly onto Ron's arm.

They were approaching the end of the hidden corridor and the buzz of chatter from the students, on the other side of the tapestry, became louder and louder. Most of it was indiscernible, until a shrill, Scottish brogue cut through the hum of the students' conversations.

'Really, Severus! I don't know what has gotten into you these days. Filius just asked you how you were and you stormed right past him...I mean you were never exactly _open_ before, but you just seem so _guarded_ now. You don't come to the staff-room at all and you haven't said a word to the rest of the staff for over a week.'

The whoosh of his robes was audible as he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Professor McGonagall.

'Thank you for casting aspersions on my character, Minerva. Now, if you will excuse me, I have fifth year papers to mark and I assure you I shall not be as _guarded_ with my criticism when doing so,' he said in a clipped tone.

The trio pushed the door leading out from the hidden corridor, where, to Hermione's immense embarrassment, she came face to face with Professor Snape.

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to speak to him.

'Professor Snape, I was –'

'I have no time for idle chitchat, Miss Granger,' he said in a low voice as he stormed past her.

To Hermione, this seemed to be a relatively polite response given their circumstances. But, when she looked around, she saw that Professor McGonagall was still lurking and Hermione knew that he would never behave in a rude manner, without provocation, before McGonagall's best pupil. However, Hermione had the feeling that if they had been alone, all manner of civility would have been dropped and he would have bawled at her.

McGonagall glowered at his retreating back and shook her head. She turned to face the trio and gave them a brisk smile and a nod.

'Good morning, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger,' she said. 'How are we all, this morning?'

'Good, thank you, Professor,' replied Harry. 'And you?'

'Quite well, Mr Potter. Charms, is it?

They nodded their response.

'Well, chop-chop! Don't be late...But – Miss Granger – before you go, perhaps I might have a word?'

Hermione nodded and stepped aside as Harry and Ron continued down the corridor.

'I have been meaning to ask you, how are you getting on with your dissertation? The Headmaster was most impressed when he received your letter. I do hope you're making good progress.'

Her question was the tip of the iceberg and, to her horror, Hermione felt the warmth from her eyes seep onto her cheeks.

'Miss Granger?' McGonagall's voice was laced with concern as she put a tentative hand on her shoulder. 'Is Professor Snape treating you well? I am not one to speak poorly of the staff and he can be a bit…foul-tempered, occasionally, but if he is upsetting you to the point of tears I would like to know about it.'

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand.

'No, Professor. Everything's fine. The last couple of days just haven't been...great.' She hated the quivering, tearful sound to her voice and wiped her face even more vigorously. 'But, I'm alright, really. I'm enjoying it...the dissertation, I mean.'

Professor McGonagall nodded and Hermioned wondered if she could sense the lie on her tongue.

'Well, if it becomes too much for you, you know where I am,' replied the Transfiguration teacher with an encouraging smile.

Hermione appreciated the sympathy and kindness of her Transfiguration teacher, but she could not shake off the complete embarrassment that she felt at having broke down in front of a teacher. Hermione dipped her head in mortification, hiding her tear-stained face from her fellow students as she headed towards the Charms classroom. She mumbled an apology for her lateness to Professor Flitwick and scurried to the back of the classroom and scrubbed her damp face with the sleeve of her robes.

Relief flooded her as the day drew to a close and it was with great weariness that she trudged downstairs to the Great Hall for dinner. Hermione completely gorged herself on the chicken that was served at dinner and the rich, chocolate pudding that was served as dessert. She felt empty and hollow inside; it was as if her feelings had eaten right through her. Hermione tried desperately to fill the void inside of her as her spoon travelled back and forward.

Ginny watched Hermione shovel food into her mouth in bewilderment.

'Since when did you turn into Ron?' said Ginny, eyeing the fork that was moving so quickly from the plate to Hermione's mouth that it became a silver blur. Hermione silenced her with a look and continued eating.

However, once she had conquered three servings of pudding, her stomach felt full to the point where it was painful, but the emptiness had not gone. She clapped a hand to her mouth and ran towards the girls' bathroom and threw up violently in the toilet bowl. She was bent double over the toilet, retching and coughing, with tears dribbling from her eyes. Once she had emptied her stomach, she closed the toilet lid and sat down on it, crying weakly into her chest. She hated the sound of the pathetic whimpers that were drawn from her and was thankful for the fact that her classmates had not finished eating in the Great Hall.

She was not a particularly weepy person, but, in the past few days, she seemed to have transformed into Moaning Myrtle. Fear and guilt were the two emotions that she did not handle well, especially when there was nothing she could do to appease both sensations. Hermione loved to tackle problems head-on, but her hands were tied when it came to solving her current dilemma.

Suddenly, an evil cackling sound echoed from the cubicle next to her and Hermione sat upright in alarm. After hastily flushing the toilet, she wiped the tears from her eyes and left before the spectre in question could say anything.

Her feet felt like lead as she trudged up the corridor and her stomach felt heavy and sore. She paid no attention to her surroundings, focusing purely on keeping her body upright and her feet moving.

Hermione did not notice him walking towards her.

'Miss Granger,' he said.

She looked up to see Professor Snape standing in front of her.

'Sir,' she whispered, her voice cracking. The pain in her heart suddenly erupted and Hermione let the apology that had been building inside her spill out of her lips. 'I'm so, so, so, sorr –'

'Are you free tomorrow night to discuss your dissertation?' he said, cutting through her apology.

Hermione stopped suddenly, allowing her mind to process what her ears had just heard. She could not summon up the strength to give a verbal response and so she nodded her head, restraining the exclamations of gratitude that welled inside her.

'Good. I shall collect you from the Great Hall after dinner tomorrow.'

* * *

><p>Unlike the rain and cloud, which had been replaced by a bright autumnal sunshine the next morning, the feeling of guilt at the pit of Hermione's stomach had not entirely dissipated.<p>

As Hermione went down to breakfast that morning, she racked her brains, wondering what, or who, had made him choose to speak to her again. She had a strong suspicion that Professor McGonagall had had words with him, in which case, he would be even more furious with her.

Hermione thought that she would be delighted if he ever decided to speak to her again. However, all she could feel was a sickening nervousness at the thought of what he would say to her. The nerves and guilt continued to boil in Hermione's stomach throughout the entire day.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that day continued as normal. Professor Snape paid no attention to any of the students in particular, apart from Neville, who had accidentally, and inexplicably, vanished the legs of the chair that Snape had been sitting on, causing the dumbfounded Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to crash onto the floor. The accident-prone boy had been made to endure a ten-minute-long admonishment from the red-faced and furious Professor Snape.

Once they had left the classroom, Harry and Ron guffawed loudly with laughter. Neville dipped his head in mortification as he stumbled along after them.

'Two months detention…Blimey, Gran's going to kill me,' mumbled Neville. 'I don't even know how I did it! I can't do those non-verbal spells…they're so difficult.'

'True,' said Ron, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. 'Hermione's the only one who can do them. But it _was_ funny, Neville…just the look of total shock on his face as his chair legs disappeared…Brilliant!'

At dinner, Hermione succeeded in joining in the conversation with Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny. Harry and Ron lost no time in informing Ginny of Neville's blunder during their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

'It was brilliant, Ginny!' exclaimed Ron, spraying pie everywhere as he spoke. 'He just…_crashed_ on to the floor!' Ron illustrated with wild hand movements that nearly knocked Harry's glasses clean off his nose.

Ginny smiled vaguely, but her attention was focused on Hermione. The youngest of the Weasley clan was looking at her intermittently over forkfuls of food as if checking to see how Hermione was behaving. Hermione smiled at her whenever she met one of her anxious stares. But, after a while, Hermione began to feel slightly irritated; Ginny did not know about her betrayal of Snape nor would she understand if she did know about it. She knew that Ginny's feelings for Snape were more or less on the same level as those of Harry and Ron.

Once her plate was clean, she looked over at the High Table to see Professor Snape rising from his seat and looking over at her. Hermione nodded tentatively, indicating that she had finished eating.

'Hermione,' said Ginny hurriedly, rising to her feet. 'I – uh – just want to check that you're – _alright_. I mean – well I know you're not alright, but, it's just…I'm worried about you.'

Hermione turned to face Ginny, whose face was etched with worry.

'Ginny, don't worry about me, I'm OK.'

Ginny tried to smile and nod, but it was clear that her doubts and concerns lingered. She turned away from Hermione as Snape approached and resumed her conversation with Harry.

'Are you ready to go?' asked Professor Snape, once he reached her side, ignoring her friends sitting at the table.

'Yes, sir.'

He nodded and walked ahead of her through the Great Hall.

As they walked, Hermione continued to look at him cautiously as if he were about to explode at any moment. While she had been praying for him to speak to her again, now that she was in his company, she felt awkward and uncomfortable. She wanted to say something to him that would ease the tension, but she knew that nothing could be said to show how sorry she was for betraying him. She opened her mouth to speak, until her attention was caught by the fact that he was heading towards the Entrance Hall.

'Sir, where are we going? Are we not going to your classroom?'

'I've been thinking about your dissertation and I think you would benefit from looking at a few secondary sources before commencing the brewing of the potion...'

He waved his wand and the doors of the Entrance Hall opened. Autumn was coming to an end and the trees were almost completely bare. The ground was carpeted with a mixture of leaves, varying in shades of brown and ochre.

Once they were outside, he turned swiftly to face her with a hard expression on his face and Hermione gulped.

This was it.

He had decided to wait until they were alone and outside of the walls of castle, hidden from the watchful gaze of the Headmaster.

Hermione's heart raced at the same speed as the flow of her thoughts: Would he shout at her? Would he _hex_ her? She looked beseechingly into his cold, dark eyes, silently begging him for forgiveness.

'Take my arm,' he said abruptly, holding his arm out for her.

'What?' she asked in bewilderment.

He tutted loudly and fixed her with a stern glare.

'I assume you have not yet sat your Apparition exam?' he asked icily.

Hermione shook her head.

'Then, you must travel by Side-Along Apparition,' he said impatiently.

'But I thought you couldn't Apparate from anywhere within the Hogwarts grounds?' she asked.

'Oh, for Heaven's sake…' he hissed, striding towards her. For a minute, Hermione thought he was going to hit her. She flinched as he reached out towards her, but he only wrapped his fingers around her bicep before turning on the spot.

She was out of breath and dizzy when she landed by his side. He loosened his grip and stepped back from her.

'That...that was – _strange_.'

'Apparating creates a very unusual sensation that is not altogether pleasant, especially if it is your first time.'

'Better than a broom,' she muttered as she followed him along a gravel path, which led to the second-most beautiful building she had ever seen.

'This is the Wizarding University of Gairloch. The library contains the biggest collection of literature on potion-making and alchemy in the entire United Kingdom,' he said briskly, marching towards the massive building that towered over them.

The University of Gairloch looked rather similar to Hogwarts, except with deliberate mistakes; the turrets were in a different position and they looked much longer and narrower, spiralling high into the sky. The brickwork was also much paler.

'It's beautiful,' said Hermione softly, gazing up at the building.

Once inside, they trudged up numerous, stationary staircases constructed of white marble. It was so much brighter compared to the interior of Hogwarts, yet there were no candles or light fixtures in sight.

'Why don't the staircases move?'

'Sometimes Muggle ways are better than those of the wizarding world. Moving staircases can be very loud, which would be very disruptive, especially when students are trying to study.'

But, after a while of dragging her heavy limbs up numerous flights of stairs, exhaustion and weariness began to take hold of her and the beauty and grandeur of the University gradually lost its appeal.

'It's on this landing here,' said Professor Snape to Hermione's immense relief, as she was on the brink of performing a hover charm on her weary feet.

She was rendered speechless by the sheer magnificence of the room. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. It was roughly the same size as the Great Hall but the walls were masked with hundreds of bookcases. It was like the library in the _Beauty and the Beast_ video that she used to watch as a child, except it was much bigger and made, almost entirely, of white marble.

The number of Potions books was so vast that they had their own section. Fortunately, Professor Snape had prepared a list of essential texts to take out; otherwise they would have spent weeks perusing every book. Hermione followed Professor Snape as he walked around the bookcases, looking for the specific titles that he had written on his list. Occasionally, Professor Snape would read a snippet from one of the books or direct her to a specific shelf. After hours of wandering around, they had finally located all of the Potions and alchemy textbooks written on Professor Snape's piece of parchment.

It was 11 o'clock in the evening when they, eventually, left the library. Once they had stepped outside of the castle, Hermione's guilt returned. She wondered when he was going to bring up her foolishness.

'I have arranged for the books to be delivered to Hogwarts by owl,' explained Professor Snape as they retraced their footsteps along the gravel path. 'They should arrive tomorrow.'

'Thank you,' said Hermione politely.

Professor Snape nodded, without turning in her direction. They came to the end of the path, flanked by large stretches of grass, before he turned to face her.

Hermione reached out and held his arm. Tentatively, he brought his hand up and clasped his fingers over her own, securing her grasp of his arm. As his fingers closed round her arm, Hermione felt the guilt rise rapidly within her; she could not remain bottled up for any longer. She tilted her face upwards to look at him and stared at his blank face with her round, brown eyes.

'Professor, I – I just want to say that I – I –'

'Hold on tight,' he murmured as if he had not heard her speak Hermione turned slightly into his chest as the unpleasant sensation of Disapparating took hold of her.

When they landed in front of the Hogwarts' entrance, Hermione had curled into his chest with her hand sandwiched between his right and his left fingers. His chin bumped against her head as he removed his hand and stepped away from her.

'I shall send you an owl with regard to our next meeting,' he said briskly. 'Goodnight, Miss Granger.'

'G'night, sir.'

She crept quietly into the common room, expecting everyone to be in bed. But, to her surprise, Harry and Ron were sitting by the window, talking in low, incredulous voices. Harry held the Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making in his hands.

Over the past week, Hermione had forgotten all about her irritation with the Prince. In fact, she had been so consumed by her own emotions, she had forgotten about almost everything.

'Hi, boys,' she said cheerily as she walked towards them.

They both looked at her suspiciously.

'What?' she asked, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.

'Were you…_cuddling_ Snape?' asked Ron incredulously, his face screwed up in disgust. Harry's expression mirrored Ron's.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

'No! Don't be ridiculous! Why would you think –'

'We saw you! One minute you weren't there and the next minute you were…you were holding onto his arm and cuddling into his chest!' Ron cried with a shudder.

'We travelled by Side-Along Apparition! I was holding onto him! Honestly! You two are absurd,' she cried in exasperation.

'Well…you did look pretty cosy,' muttered Ron.

'Where did he take you, Hermione?' asked Harry.

They were no longer regarding her suspiciously, but Hermione could not suppress the indignation that bubbled within her.

_Why should I tell them anything?_ she wondered.

It was a harmless question, but the suspicion and accusations that they readily threw at her were hurtful. It suddenly hit her; she realised that it was blabbing to them that had got her into trouble in the first place.

'None of your business,' she snapped. 'I'm away to bed.'

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hermione's irritation with Harry and Ron had not yet dissipated. She did not even have the patience to analyse the situation and evaluate whether she was in the right or the wrong. Hermione took her time getting ready that morning, deliberately procrastinating, in the hope that Harry and Ron would have already had breakfast by the time she left her bedroom.<p>

Her gaze fell on the full-length mirror that stood next to Parvati's empty bed. Hermione walked over to it and stared at her reflection with curiosity. Her hair was being particularly bothersome as her curls looked more frizzy and bushy than ever. She wished that she had more of the potion she had used on her hair for the Yule Ball. Tearing her gaze away from her hair, her eyes scanned her pale, lightly freckled face. One facial feature that greatly alarmed her was the bushy, misshapen quality of her eyebrows.

Every morning, she watched Parvati and Lavender meticulously apply mascara and blusher, quizzing each other, endlessly, on how noticeable it was and whether McGonagall would notice and send them to the girls' toilets to wash their faces. Hermione was not one for caring much about glamour or fashion; she was clean and hygienic and that was all that mattered to her. But, even Hermione could not help but feel shocked at how hideously overgrown her eyebrows had become. She reached into her sleeve to withdraw her wand, but, as she did so, she remembered Professor Snape's words from the night before:

_Sometimes Muggle ways are better than those of the wizarding world._

Replacing her wand up her sleeve, she began to rifle through her trunk until she found a make-up bag buried at the bottom, where she found a pair of eyebrow tweezers.

Once she had finished, her eyebrows had totally transformed. They were shaped and defined, giving her face a much more feminine look. Hermione could not believe how different she looked. She turned her head from side to side, wishing she had brought her mother's blusher to highlight her cheekbones.

A lump formed in her throat as she thought of her mother. She missed her parents so much. Her nerves about meeting up with Snape the previous evening had been a welcome distraction from the anxiety she felt when she thought of them.

Hermione allowed herself to bask in the memories of her childhood. She remembered the time when, as a little girl, she would experiment with her mother's make-up, drawing fancy designs on her face with her mother's eye-liner. Turning away from the mirror, she shook her head impatiently to rid herself of the memories that evoked thoughts of her parents. She glanced briefly at her watch and, to her horror, she saw that she was late for her first lesson – Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione burst through the door dramatically, which was accidental, but had unfortunately caught the attention of every student in the class.

Hurrying to a desk closest to the front, she began unpacking her things. Fortunately, everyone returned to their business and ignored her. She bowed her head over her bag as she pulled her textbooks from its depths.

'Miss Granger,' said Professor Snape, who stood in front of her desk, bearing down on her.

She lifted her head to look up at him and watched his eyes as they widened slightly in surprise upon looking at her face. Hermione could not help stretching her lips into a modest smile. He continued looking at her wordlessly. Hermione was breathless as his eyes scanned her face.

Then, to her immense horror, her stomach let out a loud rumble – a result of missing breakfast that morning. Mortification filled her face in the form of a deep, red blush.

Her stomach seemed to have roused Snape as his lips assumed a stern frown.

'Why are you late?' he barked.

'I was…getting ready,' said Hermione lamely.

'Twenty points from Gryffindor for your classmate's…_vanity_,' he declared loudly.

A groan echoed throughout the class. Hermione wanted to bury her face in her hands. For a moment she had felt almost beautiful. But, now, she realised that she was just the same as Parvati and Lavender. For Hermione, the lesson could not finish fast enough.

Finally, when they were dismissed, Hermione dived out of the door and ran to the Transfiguration classroom, where she sat next to Neville Longbottom so as to avoid sitting next to Harry and Ron.

At lunchtime, she had no desire to follow the rest of her classmates into the Great Hall. Instead, she wandered aimlessly around the castle until she found a deserted corridor, where she sat, with her back against the wall, reading quietly to herself.

'Hermione?'

Hermione looked up from her book to see Ginny walking towards her, accompanied by Dean Thomas.

'Go on, Dean, I'll get you in the common room,' said Ginny as she sat down next to Hermione. They both watched Dean stride along the corridor until he was out of sight.

Ginny looked searchingly into Hermione face.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' muttered Hermione.

'Ron said something about you two not talking? What happened?'

Hermione looked at Ginny, whose face was creased with worry, before she sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

'Oh, it was nothing. I was in a bad mood. I suppose I should go and apologise.'

Hermione closed her book with a loud snap and made to stand up, before Ginny held her arm out to stop her moving.

'Hermione, I know something's wrong…you're so quiet now…is it just…your parents? Or has something else happened?' Hermione was reminded instantly of Mrs Weasley's kind, mothering nature.

She added up everything that was going on in her head; the guilt she felt for betraying Snape's secrets, the endless fear for her parents, the memories of the night at the Ministry and the pressure of her school subjects and to excel in Potions and of being part of the Order.

'I just – I just have a lot on my mind at the moment,' said Hermione with a reassuring smile.

Ginny nodded but the worried expression on her face did not clear.

Fortunately, for Hermione, her only afternoon lesson was Arithmancy, which Harry and Ron did not take. As she sat by herself, she began to wonder if she had been too harsh on the boys. She knew that they obviously cared about her, especially after the way they defended her during the Order meeting. With this thought in mind, Hermione resolved to make it up with them that evening.

When she returned to the common room, the two boys were sitting at a table playing a game of wizard's chess. At her approach, they both rose from where they were sitting, waiting with bated breath for Hermione to speak.

'I'm sorry about yesterday,' she began. 'I was just in a bad –'

But, before she could finish her apology, they both stepped over to her and hugged her tightly.

'We were being daft, Hermione,' said Harry.

'Yeah, we didn't mean to upset you,' agreed Ron as he wrapped his arms around her neck.

Hermione smiled into Ron's chest as the weight of the misery that she was feeling appeased slightly. It was always astonishing, to Hermione, how strong the power of their friendship was and how it could lighten even the darkest of moods. It was almost magical in a way.

* * *

><p>'HERMIONE!'<p>

'Hermione!'

'Hermione! Miss Granger!'

'What's wrong with her?' cried Parvati Patil. 'Hermione! Wake up!'

Hermione woke up on the floor, drenched in sweat, tangled in her duvet and trembling violently. Her face was wet with sweat and her throat was dry and raw from screaming. She recognised two warm hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, and the soft rumble of a man's voice.

For a moment, Hermione thought she was back at the Ministry, bathed in the glow of Kingsley's wand light as he revived her.

But, as she looked up, she saw the face of Professor Snape, looking at her with an unfamiliar expression on his face.

Professor McGonagall, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown stood behind him, looking at her in horror. Parvati eye's were wide in alarm and her face was marked from where she had been digging her nails into her cheeks. Professor McGonagall was in her dressing-gown, holding a candle high above their heads.

'What happened?'

'You were screaming and…thrashing about all over the place! Were you having a nightmare?' asked Lavender.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing and steady her thumping heart. She had, indeed, been having a nightmare. Images flashed through her mind as she remembered fragments of the dream.

_Bellatrix Lestrange was standing behind her mother, pulling her head back by her hair and exposing the veins in her neck. In her other hand, she held a short, blunt blade, which traced swirling patterns over her mother's throat._

_Her mother's brown eyes gleamed with tears, which were starting to stream down her face. Dolohov stood next to Bellatrix, with his wand pointed at the lifeless body of a man, which lay splayed, in an undignified position, on the ground at their feet._

_'Crucio!' cried Dolohov. Her father's body jerked and lurched uncontrollably. His cries of agony together with Bellatrix's merciless laughter reverberated off the surrounding walls._

Bile rose in Hermione's throat and, as she clapped a hand over her mouth, Professor McGonagall conjured a bucket out of thin air and handed it to her.

Hermione retched into the bucket as bile and vomit were wrenched from her body.

Clutching the bucket to her chest, Hermione lay on the floor for a few moments and swallowed repeatedly. She knew that it was only a dream. She _knew _it, despite how vivid it had been. Slowly, she raised her head, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, to look at the others who were standing watching her anxiously.

With a swish of his wand, Professor Snape vanished the bucket into thin air. His eyes were full of concern and never before had they looked less black.

After extracting herself from the jumbled mess of covers, Hermione got to her feet and replaced the duvet on her bed.

She briefly cast her eyes over the four of them, focusing all her efforts on blocking out the dream. She could not allow it to consume her. Hermione swallowed repeatedly and wiped her face with her sweaty palm. Her throat felt red and painful.

'Miss Granger…what happened?' asked Professor McGonagall in a voice that was not unkind.

Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but she was incapable of telling them about her nightmare. For some reason, impossible though it was, she felt that if she told them about it, it would somehow be real.

'I'm fine, Professor…honestly!' Hermione insisted, straightening her bed-covers and avoiding eye-contact with the teachers. 'Just – just a nightmare.'

Embarrassment and mortification were now combined with the horror and shock that was pulsing through her body. Her face was slowly turning red with humiliation and she gave a loud cough that scratched her raw throat. The teachers exchanged suspicious looks.

'Maybe we took her off the Dreamless Sleep Potion too soon,' muttered Professor McGonagall in Snape's ear.

'I'll go and fetch more from the dungeons,' he murmured, turning towards the door. 'I have a few more phials in the store cupboard.'

'No!' said Hermione firmly. 'I'm alright, there's no need for me to take any potion.'

Her face was turning a deep shade of scarlet as her eyes flickered over Lavender and Parvati, who were looking at her as if she was, both, slightly unhinged and somewhat melodramatic.

'Come now, Miss Granger. You can't expect us to see you like this and assume that all is well!' cried Professor McGonagall. 'Severus, go and get some Dreamless Sleep Potion and something to…calm her down.'

Hermione swallowed her protests and stood in her soggy pyjamas, avoiding the glances between Lavender and Parvati. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she stared at her feet in the hope that nobody would see them. She felt riddled with fear, shock and absolute humiliation.

She focused her gaze on the floor, rubbing her toe against the soft carpet. Hermione attempted to empty her mind and ignore the memories of the dream, any thoughts of her parents and the sound of muttering between Lavender and Parvati. She dreaded the rumours that would be spread around the school the next day.

'Miss Patil, Miss Brown, I think you may return to your beds. Rest assured that Miss Granger will be alright,' said Professor McGonagall, regarding the two muttering girls with a stern expression.

Professor Snape returned minutes later, holding two phials in his hand. Hermione extended her hand to take them from him, but, instead, he walked towards her until he was standing inches away from her.

He used his fingers to tilt her chin upwards so that he was looking into her eyes.

'Open,' he commanded gently. Hermione parted her lips and allowed him to pour the two phials down her throat.

She clambered back into her bed, wishing childishly for it all to be a dream and waited until the Dreamless Sleep Potion took hold of her.

With the absence of Professor McGonagall's candle, the room was submerged in darkness.

'Blimey, what a drama queen,' murmured Lavender in a stage-whisper. Parvati snored in response.


	8. Chapter Eight

Hermione did not wake until one o'clock the next afternoon. Yawning widely, her knuckles kneaded her eyelids, rubbing away the dust that had glued her eyelashes together. Her eyes blearily flickered to her watch that rested on her nightstand.

'Oh no!' she cried, jumping out of bed in alarm. Hermione dressed quickly, laddering her tights in the process, and ran out of the dormitory. It was lunchtime and so the corridors were full of students heading to the Great Hall.

As Hermione stuck her head out of the portrait hole she saw a long line of Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years walking along the corridor.

'Hermione! Over here!'

'Hermione!'

Harry and Ron were amongst the throng, waving at her frantically.

'Did you sleep in?' asked Ron incredulously once she reached his side. 'What happened?'

'Yeah, Lavender said something about – '

'Oh, just forget whatever she said!' snapped Hermione irritably, turning a bright shade of red. 'Look…in here, come on.'

Hermione grabbed them by their robes and dragged them into an empty classroom, looking around anxiously for any sign of Peeves the poltergeist or any of the other Hogwarts ghosts. Exhaling heavily, she began to describe her nightmare to the boys, skipping certain details such as the piercing sound of her mother's screams or the dull thud of her father's body against the floor.

Their faces turned pale as they stared at her in shock.

'Blimey…' muttered Ron, rubbing the palm of his hand over the back of his neck. 'Lavender made out that you were just –'

'Will you shut up about Lavender,' she said sharply. 'I know she thinks I'm a…_freak_. But, I swear, it…it felt so...vivid and real.'

Hermione sank into a chair and held her head in her hands. Ron and Harry exchanged frightened looks; she looked so frail and vulnerable as she sat clutching her head and the blunt honesty with which she spoke shook them to the core.

'Maybe…is it possible that You-Know-Who's got a connection to your mind as well?' asked Ron nervously, lowering himself into a chair next to her.

'Oh Ron!' sighed Hermione, not looking up at him. 'That's impossible.'

'You don't think they've actually…_got_ your parents do you?'

Hermione raised her head to gawk at Harry, who was staring at her with a solemn expression on his face.

'I –' she began. 'No – We can't think like that! Dumbledore said…he _said_ they were safe! Harry, we can't make the same mistake that we did with...'

'Sirius.' Harry finished the sentence for her. His expression hardened and Hermione looked at him earnestly.

'It was just a silly nightmare,' said Hermione forcefully as she got to her feet. With trembling hands, she straightened her skirt and assumed an air of forced control. 'Nothing more.'

Ron and Harry looked at her silently.

'Anyway, I'd better go and apologise to Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn for missing their classes this morning…See you at dinner.'

'Sir?' called Hermione hesitantly as she rapped on his door.

'Enter.'

'I just wanted to apologise,' she began as she approached his desk, letting the heavy door close behind her. 'I'm so sorry...I didn't wake up until one –'

'Nevermind, Miss Granger,' said Professor Snape, raising his hand to stop her. 'I was not expecting your attendance.'

His eyes were fixed on the parchment that he was scribbling over. Hermione's jaw dropped in astonishment; she had missed his class for no reason, other than the fact that she had slept in, and he was showing no signs of wanting to punish her.

'Sir?' she asked tentatively. She looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation as to why she was not being flayed to within an inch of her life.

'That particular phial of Dreamless Sleep Potion happened to be more potent than the usual brew. In fact, I am surprised you are up this early; I would not have expected the potion to wear off until sundown,' he replied.

'Oh,' was the only response Hermione could think of.

'However, seeing as you are awake,' he continued, not looking up from the parchment. 'You may come here tonight to work on your dissertation.'

'Thank you, sir. At six o'clock?'

'Yes.'

'I'll see you then, sir,' replied Hermione, with a small smile, as she closed the door behind her.

Hermione spent an uncomfortable afternoon, traipsing from lesson to lesson. Word had spread fast throughout Hogwarts and Hermione was forced to endure endless muttering from the other students as she walked down the corridor.

'I don't really feel like going down to dinner,' said Hermione forlornly as she, Harry and Ron left the Charms classroom. 'Everyone's staring at me. They all think I'm some attention-starved nutcase.'

'Welcome to my world,' muttered Harry darkly. 'It'll be worse if you don't go.'

'Harry's right,' said Ron. 'And he should know! Look at the amount of times the whole school has been convinced that he's a lunatic…'

'Cheers, Ron,' said Harry with a grin as he punched him on the arm.

'But it's true! Do you not remember second year? Everyone thought you were the heir of Slytherin. In third year, Trelawney kept predicting your death so everyone looked at you like you were about to cark it at any moment and, in fourth year, well, everyone thought you were a liar and a cheat for getting in to the Tournament –'

'That's enough, Ronald,' said Hermione who was looking queasier with every step that they took towards the Gryffindor table.

The sixth-year students were sitting close together in a small group, huddling around a student with long dirty blonde hair.

Lavender Brown was chatting loudly and animatedly to her rapt audience, making extravagant gestures with her hands. However, as her hazel eyes met those of Hermione, Lavender stopped talking immediately. It was clear that Hermione had been the subject of Lavender's soliloquy and the blonde-haired Gryffindor quickly averted her eyes and concentrated on her dinner plate. The Gryffindors, and even a few students from the Ravenclaw table, turned to look at Hermione before erupting in a buzz of whispers and murmurs.

Hermione looked positively green as she sat at the table. Ron's eyes flickered to Lavender, but he was not glaring at her with indignation on behalf of his friend, on the contrary, he was eyeing her with a keen interest and curiosity. Hermione swallowed the irritation that she felt and turned to look at Harry, who was muttering 'ignore it, ignore it' to her like a mantra under his breath as he reached for the bowl of roast potatoes.

However, despite her best efforts, Hermione could not ignore it nor could she get rid of the misery that she felt knowing that _she_ was the subject of the dull mutter spreading through the group of Gryffindors. Hermione wolfed down her dinner so quickly, in order to keep her thoughts at bay, that she had cleaned her plate ten minutes before Ron.

'Don't worry, Hermione,' said Harry understandingly. 'It'll all be OK. Me and Ron have got Quidditch practice tonight, d'you want to come and watch?'

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt; she had forgotten all about the boys' lives and Harry's new status as Quidditch captain. In truth, she had forgotten about a lot of things.

'I – I can't,' she said ruefully. 'I'm working on my dissertation tonight with Professor Snape.'

Harry and Ron looked crest-fallen.

'How is the team shaping up? What's it like being captain?' asked Hermione. She listened intently as Harry told her about the new team members and the strain of being captain.

'Peakes is good and Coote has got a really good aim…It's just me who's terrible,' said Ron morosely, resting his head against his palm.

'I bet that's not true,' murmured Hermione softly.

'How would you know? You haven't seen me play in ages!'

'I know,' said Hermione, ducking her head guiltily. 'I know, I'm sorry. I've just been – really busy. I'll see you at the match in a fortnight though!' Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow. 'Ron, I'm really sorry.'

'It's OK, Hermione,' he said, smiling at her. 'Just so long as you're there for the match.'

'Also, have you seen Hagrid lately?' asked Hermione. She realised with a pang that she had not seen their half-giant friend since the feast at the beginning of the term.

'Yeah, we saw him this morning after breakfast,' said Harry. 'He's – he's a bit upset…Aragog's dying.'

'Aragog?' asked Hermione, looking at him in confusion. 'That enormous spider that he keeps in the forbidden forest?'

'That's the one,' muttered Ron darkly.

'The one that wanted to eat you and Harry?'

'Yeah…Apparently, all the other spiders are getting a bit…_restless_ as Hagrid put it. Even with Hagrid. They won't let him anywhere near their webs.'

'_Restless_!' cried Ron. 'I think we saw that side to them back in second year, but it certainly isn't the word I'd use to describe them…more like, bloodthirsty, murderous, hairy _monsters_. I tell you something, I won't be attending that thing's funeral.'

'Oh, blimey, Hermione! Hadn't you better run? Snape left the table ten minutes ago,' said Harry, checking his watch.

'Merlin's pants!' she cried as she hastily got up from the table. As she galloped down the stairs towards the dungeon, Hermione wondered if her time-keeping would ever improve.

For the first time ever, she welcomed the peaceful refuge of the dungeons that evening, especially as it allowed her to avoid the endless muttering that continued among her fellow students. The Potions textbooks, which they had borrowed from the library at the University of Gairloch, had arrived and so they spent the evening perusing the huge volumes for useful information.

Hermione was sitting at her desk, reading the first book, which was titled _Magical Drafts and Potions_. Her eyes flickered over each page, scanning every line for the word 'Amortentia' and writing down relevant facts and figures on the piece of parchment in front of her. Professor Snape was sitting at the front of the classroom, in his usual chair, leafing through another, heavy textbook with a thick leather cover that was worn and faded. He, too, was compiling paragraphs of information related to the brewing of the potion.

Her eyes began to grow heavy as they moved from left to right and she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the table in front of her. But the fear of falling asleep kept her upright and she continued reading diligently.

She did not want to hear the sound of her mother's scream nor the sound of Bellatrix's cruel laughter. The embarrassment that she had initially felt had subsided and, now, all she could think about was her dream and the safety of her parents.

_You don't think they've actually…got your parents, do you?'_

Hermione jumped violently as Harry's words came to mind. Her quill dropped from her hand and the textbook snapped shut. She ran her hands through her tangled hair as if attempting to pacify the thoughts running through her head.

She did not notice Professor Snape watching her intently.

'Are you going to tell me what happened last night?'

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. He had lifted his head from the textbook that he was reading and gazed at her with unblinking eyes.

'It was nothing,' she said quietly. 'It was just a nightmare.'

She felt her cheeks burn and she bowed her head to look at the dust cover of the old textbook in front of her.

'About?' he asked in his silky voice.

'I – nothing…it's nothing, I'm fine,' she said, staring fixedly at the closed book. Professor Snape stood up from his desk and walked over to her. 'Honestly, sir, I'm fine.'

She raised her head to look at him and, as she did, she realised that she wanted nothing more than to reveal her fears and worries to him. His ability to remain rational, dividing himself from any emotion, was something she deeply envied and Hermione felt that all she needed was for someone to give her a rational perspective. But she knew that it was all too likely that he would sneer at her.

Nevertheless, he did not return to his seat and, instead, remained rooted to the spot at her side.

'You insult my intelligence,' he said softly. 'I know that you are clearly _not_ fine and that is without delving into your mind.'

Hermione looked at him beseechingly. She was torn; she wanted to tell him but she knew that she would feel humiliated if her fears were met with scorn and ridicule.

'As your teacher, I am asking you to tell me,' he said firmly.

'You – you wouldn't understand…you'd think I was…' She looked down at the book in her lap, avoiding his gaze.

'Tell me…' he said. His voice was soft and gentle as he murmured the last syllable.

Slowly, Hermione turned her face upwards so that she was addressing the buttons on his frock coat.

'I – I'm worried about my parents,' she whispered.

To her surprise, her confession was met with silence. Taking confidence from this, she went on.

'In – in my dream, they were being – tortured by Bellatrix and…Dolohov.' Hermione explained her anxiety about the safety precautions that the Headmaster had taken to prevent them from danger and his refusal to tell her their whereabouts or condition. '…I don't know whether he wants the safety measures to be known only to him…or if he's not that bothered at all and is too concerned with…other things.' She spoke in a small voice because she did not want to snub the Headmaster in front of another teacher.

'Your parents' safety has been taken care of,' said Professor Snape quietly.

'How – That's exactly what Dumbledore said! How do you know anyway?' she asked angrily, rubbing her eyes with her fist to ensure that they were dry as she turned to face him. She did not care that she sounded rude and abrupt; she was annoyed at the Headmaster for keeping her in the dark, especially given that he had told another teacher before telling her.

'Because I took care of it myself,' he replied lightly.

Hermione was stunned. Her eyes were wide and shining with perplexity as she looked at the calm expression on his face.

'When?'

'The night of the Order meeting. After we discovered that your safety was in danger, and that the Dark Lord might try to use your parents to lure you into his midst, the Headmaster decided that they would need protection…and so, I took care of it.'

'But…that night, you were with…You-Know-Who,' she said bewilderedly.

He eyed her sharply, causing a deep crease to form between his eyebrows.

'And how, Miss Granger, did you come to that conclusion?'

'Because…' she faltered. 'When…when you arrived, you seemed so…_confident_ and self-assured and you normally only seem that way after you've been with…him.'

She cringed under his glare.

'Perhaps my _confidence_ and _self-assurance_ came from the fact that I was able to do something _good_ for the Order and the knowledge that my skills do not lie solely in the ability to spy!' He twisted his head to the side and looked at the edge of the table. His breathing was heavy and he had straightened his back so he stood at his full height.

Hermione felt her face turn red as shame and embarrassment washed over her. She had insulted the one person who understood her fears and who had, personally, taken care of the safety of her parents.

'I'm sorry, Professor. It never occurred to me. But...now that I knoow that _you_ personally took charge of their protection, my mind is far more at ease,' she said humbly, looking at the chipped desk. Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione trusted Professor Snape as much as she trusted every other Hogwarts teacher – possible even more so – and as her brain processed this information, she felt her fears alleviate almost entirely.

Professor Snape's back stiffened and she knew that he felt awkward; he could not berate her as it would be pointless, but he did not know how to accept an apology. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, which were round and apologetic. Their eye contact lasted several seconds until he shifted his gaze.

'I was glad to do it,' he said politely, staring at the wall behind her. 'I suppose it is fortunate that people presume I was with the Dark Lord…if the wrong people caught wind of the fact that I was responsible for their protection…well, it wouldn't help matters,' he said, returning his gaze to her face.

'Thank you.' Hermione angled her face upwards to look at him and saw that his eyes remained fixed on her face.

'You're welcome...It was Dolohov who cursed you last summer,' he stated.

Hermione nodded as she absentmindedly rubbed the burn at the top of her ribcage. The wound had healed but it had not entirely disappeared and she was left with an ugly bruise smeared over her chest.

'Your memories and fears are manifesting in your dreams. You have nothing to fear, Miss Granger. It was only a dream.'

* * *

><p>Much excitement took place at Hogwarts in the run-up to the Quidditch match. It was now only a week until the first game of the year. However, Hermione noticed that there was one person, apart from herself, who was not caught up in the pre-match excitement and that was Harry.<p>

His obsession with Draco Malfoy persisted and Hermione and Ron were becoming rapidly concerned about him. One night, as they sat up in the common room, waiting for Harry to return from his meeting with Dumbledore, they discussed Harry's obsession.

'You don't think he's right, do you?' Ron asked her.

'No,' said Hermione adamantly. 'I mean, he's _sixteen_! He still seems like the same old Malfoy to me, despite what Harry says.'

Ron gazed into the fireplace as he considered Hermione's words.

'He _is_ becoming a bit obsessed with it though,' said Ron eventually, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. 'All he ever does is check that bloody map. Every morning, every night, even between classes! It's mental!'

'I know,' agreed Hermione, leafing through _Magical Drafts and Potions_. 'I wonder if we should do something…'

'What can we do? The best thing to do is to ignore him whenever he mentions it. That way he'll _have_ to drop it.'

'Drop what?' asked Harry, who appeared suddenly, sinking heavily into an armchair.

'Nothing,' said Ron quickly. 'What did Dumbledore say?'

Harry summarised his trip into the Pensieve, recalling the story of Marvolo Gaunt and his return from Azkaban, upon which he discovered that his daughter had eloped with a Muggle.

'Blimey!' exclaimed Ron after Harry had finished. 'You-Know-Who's Dad was a Muggle?'

Harry nodded.

'So…_he_…Voldemort,' she whispered, 'was a _half_-blood?' Hermione's eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. 'Harry…you don't think that the Half-Blood Prince could be…'

'No,' said Harry bluntly. 'No, Hermione, I don't. I _know_ the Prince and he isn't evil – despite what you say! He's not Voldemort!'

Ron jumped in alarm and knocked the footstool over.

'Do you always _have_ to say the name?' cried Ron.

'Dumbledore says it,' snapped Harry.

'Yeah, but that's Dumbledore…'

'Did you find out what happened to his hand?' asked Hermione, cutting through Ron's grumbles.

'Nah,' replied Harry distractedly, rummaging in his pockets. 'I'll ask him next time.'

He withdrew the Marauder's Map from inside his robes and spread the parchment over his knees.

'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' he murmured, tapping the map with his wand.

Hermione and Ron traded anxious looks with each other as Harry pored over the map.

* * *

><p>For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt elated as she walked into the Potions classroom the following day. They would be studying Golpalott's Third Law, which meant that Harry would not be able to rely on the Prince for help.<p>

Hermione was particularly infuriated with the Prince that morning subsequent to Harry's anecdote about his newfound levitation spell, Levicorpus. In the early hours of that morning, Harry, who at that point had no knowledge of the effects of the spell, had decided to try it out on an oblivious, slumbering Ron.

Lifting people into the air by their ankles was no laughing matter in Hermione's mind. She was reminded of the night of the Quidditch World Cup, when the Death Eaters had surfaced, torturing Muggles and their families for all to see. Even the memory of that night was sickening and Hermione focused hard on the cover of her Potions textbook to put it out of her mind. .

'Settle down, settle down,' called Professor Slughorn as he strolled into the classroom behind the students, announcing the learning objectives of the day. 'Now, Miss Granger, I am expecting great things from you today!' he said jovially as he walked past her. 'This is, after all, your chosen field of study. You have two hours!'

Hermione ran to the store cupboard and filled her arms with jars of ingredients. To her delight, she saw Harry flicking despairingly through the Prince's copy of the Potions textbook. Ron, on the other hand, was staring into his empty cauldron as if hoping that it would suddenly fill with an antidote to a blended poison.

An hour and a half had passed and Professor Slughorn had ambled by her cauldron several times, nodding approvingly. Harry's potion, on the other hand, had turned the colour of sludge and its consistency was like that of tar.

After two hours, Hermione stepped back from her cauldron, beaming broadly as she looked at her potion proudly. It contained fifty-two ingredients, including a chunk of her own hair.

Hermione straightened up eagerly as Professor Slughorn waddled over towards their table. He peered into Hermione's cauldron and nodded admiringly at the potion. Suppressing a wide grin, she watched eagerly as he stepped over to scrutinise the contents of Harry's cauldron.

Seconds passed and Professor Slughorn said nothing. Hermione craned her neck around the vast form of the Potions teacher and saw that he was looking at something in Harry's hand. Suddenly, Slughorn threw his head back and howled with laughed.

'A bezoar!' he exclaimed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. 'Of course, a bezoar acts as an antidote to most poisons, if you've got one on hand. So intuitive…You're just like your mother! That's exactly what she would have done. Lily was a natural potion-maker. Well done, m'boy. Ten points to Gryffindor!'

Hermione was in a furious mood when she stormed into Professor Snape's classroom that evening. As she slammed her bag on the table, she extracted her dissertation work and textbooks, thumping them onto the desk with unnecessary vehemence.

'Miss Granger,' he said in a threatening growl. 'I do not care for the woes and tantrums of teenagers, but I _do_ care when they come storming in here, nearly breaking the door down in the process, and behaving like a five year old. Next time, leave your tantrums and juvenile drama outside this classroom.'

She looked up at him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

'Sorry, sir,' she mumbled, sitting at her desk and opening the textbook at the bookmarked page.

Hermione was livid with Harry for his stunt in the Potions classroom earlier that day and, for a minute, she contemplated telling Snape about Harry's Potions textbook and the mysterious character of the Half-Blood Prince. Harry was becoming almost as obsessed with the Prince as he was with Draco Malfoy. Despite what Harry said, the so-called Levicorpus spell sounded highly suspicious to Hermione.

Who was the _Half-Blood Prince_? Perhaps, she pondered, 'Prince' was a surname as opposed to a title? Hermione made up her mind to go to the library the next morning and research the name 'Prince'. Old Potions awards and records could also point her in the right direction. Hermione could not shake off the feeling that the _Prince_ was not as innocent and trustworthy as Harry and Ron thought. There was something suspicious about the textbook…she just could not put her finger on it…

'Miss Granger, what _is_ the matter?' Professor Snape snapped suddenly.

'What? I'm not doing anything,' said Hermione indignantly.

'Exactly,' he retorted smoothly. 'Get to work. I am not sacrificing my time here, so that you can sit there and daydream.'

Hermione suppressed a sigh and turned back to her dissertation notes. To her surprise, she found that there was little more theory work to be done. She had made good use of the textbooks that they had borrowed from the library at the University of Gairloch.

As well as finding many useful tips and hints with regard to general potion-making, Hermione had also unearthed a lot of information about Amortentia and its origins. She thought back to the story that Harry had told her about Merope Gaunt and her use of Amortentia to ensnare Voldemort's father. However, she felt that this information, although interesting, would not be an appropriate addition to her dissertation.

After two hours, she got up from her desk to show her notes to Professor Snape.

'Good work, Miss Granger,' he said quietly.

Hermione beamed with pride. It was the first time her Potions work had been praised this year; her N.E.W.T. Potions work always paled in comparison to the Prince's.

'We are almost ready to start the brewing process,' he announced as his eyes scanned over her notes.

'Thank you, sir,' she said, smiling at her work.

'Professor Slughorn seems…_impressed_ with your work. I hear he has invited you to join that infernal motley crew of students he calls the _Slug Club_? The majority, of which, is nothing more than the talentless offspring of celebrities.'

'Yes, he has, but…I don't know… he just – he always seems so much more impressed by Harry than –'

'With _Potter_?' he cried incredulously as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'I had suspected that he would be part of the _Slug Club_…But, anyone, upon meeting Potter, would shortly realise that he gets by on pure luck and friends who are far more gifted than he will ever be.'

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but stopped before she could say any more and inadvertently reveal the source of Harry's newfound aptitude for Potions. Despite Snape's vehemence, it was nice to hear comments that were not full of admiration for Harry. Hermione had, indeed, been invited to the Slug Club parties on several occasions, but, fortunately, they always coincided with her meetings with Snape; she had no desire to spend her evenings listening to Slughorn sing Harry's praises.

A pang of guilt coursed through Hermione as she listened to Snape's remarks about her friend. However, she could not shake off the fact that he was right in many respects. Both Harry and Ron frequently infuriated her with their carelessness and inconsideration. They were meant to be her friends and they frequently sponged off of her intelligence and notes without any credit or appreciation other than a muttered 'thanks' and a pat on the back.

She had contributed as much as Harry in the obstacles protecting the Philosopher's Stone, she had done all of the preparation for the Polyjuice Potion in their second year and, in their third year, she was the first student in decades to have travelled through time in order to attend extra lessons. In addition, Hermione had thought of the plan to save Sirius and Buckbeak as well as helping Harry prepare for the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament.

As Hermione considered all these feats, she realised how much Harry had needed her help and the only person who acknowledged her hard work was the wizard sitting before her. She smiled softly as she looked at him and turned back to her notes.

* * *

><p>The approaching weekend was highly anticipated by the senior years, all bar Harry, Ron and Hermione. For the other students, they would be permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade and spend their Galleons in Zonko's Joke Shop and Honeydukes. The trio, however, were not allowed to visit the village and were forced to remain indoors.<p>

The boys complained bitterly over a game of Exploding Snap.

'I can't _believe_ we're stuck in here! It's not like You-Know-Who is going to be hiding behind the cockroach clusters, is he?' groaned Ron loudly on Saturday morning.

Harry stared down at the floor and Hermione knew that he blamed himself for their predicament. Hermione shared Ron's disappointment, but she knew better than to show her emotions in front of Harry.

Nevertheless, she had made up her mind to use this time to work on her dissertation and avoid Ron's groans. That afternoon she left the common room and spent the rest of her Saturday in the company of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

His temper had changed dramatically, since their first meeting, and their arguments had become few and far between. Naturally, his sarcasm and sharp retorts continued, but those were traits so deeply embedded in his character that Hermione realised it would be odd if they vanished entirely.

'Ouch!' Hermione screeched loudly as he struck the back of her hand with a ladle, which was reaching towards the phial of salamander blood.

'Can you not read, Miss Granger? The instructions clearly state that four drops of salamander blood will suffice!' he said, replacing the ladle, with which he had hit her, on the desk. He sighed in exasperation and picked up the stirrer.

'That hurt,' she whimpered, clutching her hand, which was now sporting an ugly red mark.

'Rubbish,' he muttered quietly as he took over the task of stirring of the potion. Despite his new penchant for mild, physical violence, the absence of his cutting remarks allowed them to work together rather peacefully.

Hermione relaxed as he continued stirring and, before long, the potion began to display the typical signs of Amortentia.

'Oooh,' Hermione responded excitedly to the potion's sudden change. She bent her head over the cauldron as the steam rose in spirals and its distinctive, mother of pearl sheen became more apparent.

'Mmm,' she murmured as she inhaled the fumes of the potion. It emanated an exotic and seductive scent that caused a thrilling, plunging sensation in her stomach.

Her interest in the potion was so enthusiastic that she did not realise how close she was to him. Her body was pressed against his as she leaned over his arm to observe the potion's changes.

Professor Snape coughed as if subtlety implicating his discomfort at her proximity.

'Miss Granger, shouldn't you be taking notes?' he asked. She turned her head from the cauldron to look at him inquiringly.

'What?'

'Your dissertation,' he replied, somewhat impatiently, as he raised his eyebrows.

Her eyes widened with the realisation of how leisurely she leaned against him. Embarrassment filled her, leaving two pink spots on her cheeks, and she hastily stepped to the side so that they were now at opposite ends of the desk.

For another hour they worked in silence. She wrote extensive notes on the initial brewing stages of Amortentia, her quill scratching feverishly against the parchment, whilst he stirred the potion continuously, filling the classroom with its intoxicating scent and pink swirls of steam. Pages and pages of parchment became covered in her neat, swirly handwriting as she frantically covered as many sheets of parchment as she could, blocking out the embarrassment that she felt as she considered how closely she had been leaning on him before.

Eventually, she looked up from her work as her wrist began to ache slightly to see him stirring meticulously. Hermione wondered how his arm did not get tired.

'I think that will do for tonight, Miss Granger,' he announced, stepping back from the potion. 'I –'

'Professor!' shouted a wheezy voice, which was followed by a loud bang as the door of the classroom slammed against the wall and Mr Filch hobbled into the room. In his hands, he appeared to be holding a black scarf that was scrunched into a ball.

'What is the matter, Mr Filch?' asked Professor Snape, not looking at the caretaker, as he poured the contents of the cauldron into a phial and corked it. The scent of the potion lingered in the air and, for some reason, Hermione could not bring herself to look at her teacher and focused on the package that Mr Filch held in his hands. She felt embarrassed and light-headed and, yet, she did not know why.

'A student – Bell something-or-other – Gryffindor girl – cursed – she had _this_!' he panted heavily, slumping against the desk as he placed the scarf on its surface.

'Katie Bell?' Hermione squeaked in horror as her curious thoughts and feelings vanished instantly. Peering over the desk, she saw a small necklace curled up in the scarf. Leaning forward, she tentatively raised her hand to touch it. Her fingertips nearly grazed the smooth locket before Professor Snape leaped forward and grabbed her wrist.

'Rule one, when dealing with cursed objects, Miss Granger…Don't touch them!' he barked, before letting go of her wrist. 'What happened, Argus?'

He extracted his wand from his robes and gently began to prod the necklace. Filch explained the events that had happened in Hogsmeade in his croaky voice.

'…And so, I go over to them with my Secrecy Sensors, then Professor McGonagall tells me to take this to you, Professor.'

'She is alive?' asked Professor Snape coolly, examining the necklace closely, his hair flopping about his face as he did so.

'Yes, sir,' wheezed Filch. 'She's in the hospital wing.'

'She must have brushed the necklace with the smallest amount of skin,' he murmured under his breath. 'The curse on this necklace is particularly powerful…I think Miss Bell is lucky to be alive.'

Hermione and Filch stood in silence as they watched the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher scrutinise the necklace.

After a while, Hermione grew restless and agitated. With trembling hands, she began to clean all the potion-making apparatus in the sink. Her thoughts went to Katie: What would have happened if she had touched the necklace with her bare hands? She could not believe it; even at Hogwarts, there was no escape from the dark magic that threatened to poison the entire wizarding world.

'Very well, I shall keep this necklace in order to examine it further. Thank you, Argus, you may go,' said Professor Snape eventually.

Hermione continued to scrub the cauldron by hand, unaware of the fact that the water she was using was freezing cold. She did not notice Professor Snape standing by her side.

'Are you alright?' he asked softly.

Hermione jumped in surprise at the sudden noise in her ear and she turned around to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed together with something akin to concern as he looked at her.

'Yes,' said Hermione breathlessly. 'I – I can't believe that something like that could make its way into Hogwarts. Isn't there any security?'

'The Headmaster has taken many security measures,' replied Professor Snape crisply. 'But there is only so much he can do…According to Filch, Miss Bell was given the necklace in the girls' lavatory and was told to take it up to the school.'

'Do they know who gave it to her?'

Professor Snape shook his head, causing strands of hair to lightly brush his cheeks.

'Who do you think it was, sir?'

He looked at her with a glint in his eye and, for a second, Hermione wondered if he knew.

'I have no idea, Miss Granger,' he said wearily, wiping a hand over his forehead. She had seen him do it once before, after being summoned and, as it did then, the gesture looked very strange. It made him look like an ordinary man, capable of feeling fatigue and weariness. He did not look like the formidable Professor who, for the past five years, she had known him to be.


	9. Chapter Nine

As Hermione walked back to the deserted Gryffindor common room that night, she realised that her concern for Katie Bell was not the only issue that was bothering her. Another annoying, niggling problem continued to pester her throughout the night as she tossed and turned. Thinking about it only gave her a headache and a sense of growing nausea. But, every time her eyes closed that night, there was one face that kept reappearing in her mind's eye.

The next morning was a beautiful, sunny Sunday, yet Hermione awoke in a state of great anxiety and her nightie was drenched with sweat. Her breathing was heavy and rapid. However, she had not experienced another nightmare; she had experienced another warped dream about Professor Snape. She rubbed her face with her hands as the feeling of disquiet crept over her.

She had inkling of what it all meant; the fact that he was all she could think about, the constant reappearance of his face in her mind's eye and the fact she was working so hard on her dissertation in order to impress him. Her feelings for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher were slowly evolving into something much more potent.

The Great Hall welcomed Hermione with what was once the delicious aroma of bacon and sausages, courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves. But, given her current preoccupation, her appetite seemed to have evaporated along with her clarity of mind. Avoiding looking at the High Table, Hermione perched herself between Ron and Harry and reached for an abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet that was lying on the table.

'Wha' 'appened to you las' nigh' 'Er-my-on-nee,' asked Ron through a forkful of beans.

'Pardon, Ronald?'

For one alarming moment, Hermione wondered if she talked in her sleep. Perhaps Lavender and Parvati knew what she had dreamt about? Hermione's face turned the exact shade of red as the cooked tomatoes that lay on Ron's plate; the last thing she needed was for Lavender to spread another rumour about her.

'You weren't at dinner,' supplied Harry helpfully. 'He's not making you work on that dissertation during meal times as well is he? Especially at the weekend!'

Relief washed over Hermione.

'Imagine…' said Ron gormlessly. 'Having to spend all that extra time with Snape…I'd pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower.'

Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance. She had always felt irritated when Harry and Ron snubbed Snape; he was, after all, a highly intelligent wizard, who cared about the safety and welfare of the students at Hogwarts. However, this time, her annoyance was greater than usual.

'Did you hear about what happened to Katie Bell?' asked Harry, skewering a sausage with his fork.

'Yes, I did,' she replied miserably, sinking in her seat. 'Filch brought that cursed necklace to Professor Snape…'

'Is the match still scheduled for tomorrow, Harry?' interrupted Seamus eagerly, sliding along the bench to join them. 'Because you'll need a substitute for Katie, won't you?'

Hermione stared at Seamus in disbelief before throwing her hands up in exasperation.

'You are _joking_, aren't you? She was _cursed_, Seamus, doesn't that make you feel slightly alarmed?'

'Yeah, but…' he said uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 'I was just wondering…'

'Yes, Seamus,' said Harry, cutting over Hermione who had opened her mouth to speak. 'I'll ask Madam Hooch when I see her. But, as far as I know, the match is still on for tomorrow…I'll let you know, OK?'

'That's grand! Cheers, Harry.' Seamus grinned at him before getting up to leave the table.

'Merlin! I totally forgot about the Quidditch team…' he groaned, running his hands through his hair.

'Good,' said Hermione curtly, throwing Seamus's back a dark look. 'There are more important things to worry about…such as one of your classmates being cursed!'

Harry nodded glumly. They sat in silence for a few moments while Ron ate and Harry groaned into his hands.

'Why is the match on a Monday anyway?' asked Hermione pensively. 'I thought Quidditch games took place at the weekend.'

'They do, normally,' replied Ginny, who appeared suddenly, slinging her long red hair over her shoulder. 'But Madam Hooch was away this weekend and there's another match on next weekend…Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, I think...'

'Hey, Ginny,' murmured Harry softly as she sat down next to him. His green eyes followed her every movement as she lowered herself onto the seat beside him. Once she was seated, however, he deliberately averted his gaze.

There was something in the tone of his voice and the way his head snapped round to look at her that caught Hermione's attention. Unnoticed by anyone, except Hermione, Harry's spine straightened so that he was sitting upright in his seat, making himself look taller and older.

'Did you all hear about Katie?' asked Ginny in a hushed voice.

'Yeah, we were just talking about it. Hermione said Filch took the necklace to Snape,' said Ron, wiping his mouth.

'What did he say?' asked Ginny, reaching for the rack of toast.

'He said that she was lucky to be alive...Apparently the curse on that necklace was so powerful that she could have died if she had touched it with her bare hand,' explained Hermione.

'Who do you think did it?' asked Ron gravely.

'No idea,' muttered Hermione, shaking her head. 'Professor Snape didn't know either.'

'It was Malfoy.' They all turned to look at Harry who had remained silent since Ginny's arrival. His face was expressionless but, in his eyes, it was clear that he was convinced of his theory.

'Harry, come on –'

'No, listen to me, Hermione!' he snapped, banging his fist on the table. 'You say that I don't have any proof, but there isn't any proof to the contrary –'

'But, it's ludicrous! I mean –' she countered in a shrill voice.

'Harry's got a point, Hermione,' interjected Ginny. 'I mean, there isn't any proof...'

Harry nodded triumphantly at Hermione. His expression did not change, but his cheeks were glowing with pride and Hermione could not bring herself to press the point and ruin his delight. She sighed heavily and looked at him with a slightly bemused expression as he chanced a sideways glance at Ginny.

'It wasn't Malfoy, Harry,' said Ron firmly. 'He had detention with McGonagall – I overheard him complain about it in Defence Against the Dark Arts last week.'

Hermione resisted the urge to nod triumphantly at Harry.

'Yeah, but maybe he has accomplices…like Crabbe or Goyle…or that Nott kid...or maybe even a few Death Eater pals –'

'Hey, everyone!' called a deep, low voice. They turned round and saw Dean Thomas smiling cheerily as he strode over to them. 'Hi, Gin,' he murmured softly in Ginny's ear as he sat down next to her.

He wrapped a long, maroon-clad arm round her shoulder whilst his other arm reached across the table for a slice of toast. Harry's eyes lingered for a moment on Dean's fingers, which curled around Ginny's arm. The glow of happiness had evaporated from Harry's features with all the speed of his Firebolt. Ron, too, glared at Dean and his public display of affection.

'By the way, Harry, with Katie Bell in hospital, will you need me to stand in as Chaser tomorrow night?' asked Dean, who seemed oblivious to the glares directed his way.

Hermione tutted loudly and rolled her eyes; their lack of concern for their classmate's safety shocked her.

'For Heaven's sake…' she muttered under her breath.

'Well, we'll see,' said Harry curtly, avoiding his eye as he reached for his goblet. The tone of his voice was a lot frostier than the one he had used with Seamus. 'You never know, Katie might be better by tonight –'

'Actually, they've transferred her to St. Mungo's,' said Ginny conversationally as she buttered another slice of toast.

'Oh,' was the only response that Harry could manage as he dropped his gaze to his lap.

Hermione cursed Harry for his terrible timing. A few years ago, she had consoled a weeping, heart-broken Ginny, who had desperately longed for Harry's affection. Although Hermione was glad to see that she had taken her advice, going out with a few other boys and relaxing around Harry, she wished that Dean was not on the scene.

She knew that Harry's feelings for Ginny were preventing him from willingly accepting Dean's offer, despite the fact that he had flown better than the rest of the Chasers during tryouts.

'Anyway, I'd better go – got Slughorn's essay to finish,' said Dean, getting up from the table. 'I'll talk to you later about the match, Harry.'

He kissed Ginny quickly on the cheek and winked at Harry, before marching away towards the doors of the Great Hall. Harry glared at his retreating back.

'Oh, bugger,' groaned Ron, rubbing his face with his hands. 'I forgot all about that bloody essay! I'm hopeless without you, Hermione. You need to spend less time in the dungeons and more time correcting my essays.'

Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

'Well, if you hadn't thrown out those homework planners I gave you last year, there wouldn't be a problem!' she retorted sharply.

'"If you've dotted the i's and crossed the t's then you may do whatever you please!"' sang Ron in a shrill falsetto. 'What was the other one, Harry?'

'"Do it today or later you'll pay!"' replied Harry in a mocking, high-pitched voice. His face had cleared and he had perked considerably subsequent to Dean's departure.

'Did anything else happen in Hogsmeade, Ginny?' asked Hermione, deliberately ignoring the two boys.

'"Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!"'

'Shut up, Ron!'

'Nah…' replied Ginny, cutting through Ron's relentless, homework planner parroting. 'I saw Tonks, but she didn't stop for a chat…she looks dreadful…not just_ unhappy_…her hair was lank and dirty and her robes were unwashed.'

'Yeah, she looked like that last time I saw her,' said Harry. 'She looked terrible…'

'What's wrong with her, do you reckon? Just because of everything at the Ministry?' asked Ron.

'I dunno…Snape said something about her Patronus changing,' replied Harry thoughtfully.

'I didn't know that...Can that happen?' asked Hermione in surprise.

'Apparently,' he said, shrugging.

Hermione made a mental note to ask him about it as she tried to forget the plunging sensation in her stomach that the mention of Professor Snape had caused.

* * *

><p>'I can't do this Harry,' groaned Ron in Harry's ear as his wide and fearful eyes scanned the table of Slytherins, who were jeering loudly at him. His grip slackened on his broom and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. 'They're all looking at me!'<p>

'Ron, pull it together, you'll be fine,' said Hermione as she rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. This gesture was not missed by Lavender Brown, whose glare bored into her like a drill. Hermione dropped her hand but she could not shake off the feeling that Lavender was still watching her.

'No, honestly, I can't! I really, _really_ can't.'

'LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!'

'Shut it, you lot!' shouted Ginny as she entered the Great Hall with her broom, glowering at the Slytherin table. She strolled over to Ron's side and dropped into the seat next to him. 'Just ignore it, Ron, they're idiots. They're just trying to put you off!'

'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING! HE CANNOT BLOCK A SINGLE RING!

'It's working,' muttered Ron in a high squeak.

'THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING! WEASLEY IS OUR KING!'

'Slytherin, be quiet!' barked Professor McGonagall from the High Table.

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN! HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN!'

'For goodness' sake, Severus! Make them stop!' snapped McGonagall, turning to face the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who was sitting on her right.

Professor Snape lowered his knife and fork and glared at Professor McGonagall for a moment before standing up.

'WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN! WEASLEY IS OUR KING!'

'Settle down! Settle down!' shouted Professor Snape, clapping his hands together. 'If one more person from this table sings that infernal song, I will take a point from Slytherin.'

'A point! One single, measly point?' snapped Harry indignantly as he watched Professor Snape sink back into his chair. 'How many points has he taken off of us over the years?'

'I really think I'm going to be sick,' murmured Ron, whose face was slowly turning a pale, sickly green colour.

Harry rummaged in his pockets and, slowly, he extracted his left hand from his robes, his fingers clasped tightly over something. He reached over the table under the pretence of getting more toast, but his hand bypassed the toast rack and hovered over Ron's goblet of pumpkin juice.

'What did you just do?' asked Hermione suspiciously, looking at him through narrowed eyes as he hastily stuffed his hand in his pocket.

Harry turned to her with an expression of feigned confusion.

'Dunno what you mean,' he murmured, drinking deeply from his own goblet.

'Yes, you do! You just put something in his drink! What was it?'

Suddenly, comprehension dawned on Hermione.

'Oh no, Harry! You didn't! Don't drink it, Ron!'

'Why not?' asked Ron curiously.

'That's Felix Felicis! You could be expelled for that, Harry,' she said furiously. Hermione was already angry at the way in which he had acquired the liquid luck potion: Slughorn had given it to him as a prize for having brewed the best potion in the class, which, of course, was through the help of the Prince. 'It's illegal!' she hissed at him.

She turned to take the goblet away from Ron but, as she faced him, he had already downed the whole lot and was grinning triumphantly at Harry.

'Harry!' she cried shrilly.

'Come on, Harry! We've got a game to win!' said Ron, jumping up eagerly from the table.

'Good luck, Ron,' piped Lavender with a small smile and a wave.

The bitter cold was putting up a good fight, attempting to penetrate the thick layers of jumpers and socks of the spectators. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and buried her nose into the collar of her jumper, trying to coax some heat into her face.

Her eyes flickered upwards towards the match and the hovering figures clad in red and green. Even in the howling wind that was causing her eyes to water, she could see Harry scowling at the broad figure of Dean Thomas as he perched on his broom waiting for Madam Hooch to release the Quaffle.

It had been with great reluctance that morning that Harry had told Dean that he was in. At that moment, however, she felt no sympathy for him at all. She could not believe that he had cheated. Although she disliked most of the Slytherins, she did not think that Harry's actions were justifiable and she longed to tell someone about it. Hermione instantly thought of Professor Snape and, before she could stop herself, she looked over towards the teacher stands, scanning the crowd for the dark figure of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

To her surprise, he was not looking at the Quidditch players who were assembled in the sky; he was looking straight at Hermione. Her face flooded with warmth as their eyes met and she withdrew her nose from her jumper. Even the freezing gale could not suck the warmth that was rising in her cheeks. He was clad in his usual black garb, sporting a Slytherin scarf and a penetrating stare that remained fixed on Hermione.

A loud whistle signalled the start of the game, causing Hermione to jump in surprise and look at the players gliding over the pitch. She did not realise how long she had been staring at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the embarrassment and mortification kept her gaze rooted to the sky.

She tried her best to concentrate on the game, but she could not focus. Her fury with Harry had dissipated to a mild irritation and, now, all she could think about was the wizard sitting in the opposite stand.

Tentatively, she lowered her gaze and chanced another peek at him; his chin was raised as his narrowed eyes followed the players. His eyes remained fixed on the game, not looking at her once.

She thought back to her first year, when she had believed Professor Snape to be jinxing Harry, and recalled setting his robes on fire in an attempt to distract his attention from the match. Bizarrely, she felt a strong urge to repeat the incident in the hope that he would turn his gaze away from the game and focus on her with the same, intense stare.

Hermione turned her head upwards to look at the figures streaking back and forth across the pitch, but she had lost track of who was winning and she could not concentrate on Zacharias Smith's commentary.

'What's the score?' she asked a small, maroon-clad figure beside her.

'Two-one to Gryffindor,' squeaked the voice of Dennis Creevey, the younger brother of Colin Creevey, who had been Harry's second year stalker. Hermione nodded gratefully and cupped her hands over her nose and mouth, praying for Harry, or even Draco, to catch the Snitch. She felt embarrassed and confused and she realised that she was using all the strength of her willpower to resist looking at the person sitting across the pitch.

Determined to keep her eyes averted from him, Hermione turned her head to look at the Gryffindors around her, who were staring open-mouthed at the match above, except from one. Lavender Brown was eyeing Hermione with something akin to intense dislike. Slowly, she turned her head back to the game, trying very hard not to look at Ron or Professor Snape or the irate, blonde-haired Gryffindor.

Before long, her willpower snapped and her eyes flickered to the opposite stands and locked onto the figure of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. His eyes were fixed on the match above. A cloudy puff of hot air escaped her mouth as Hermione sighed heavily, but, as she was about to turn away, he lowered his gaze so that he was staring directly at her. Her breath hitched in her throat and though the cold wind bit her nose and cheeks, turning them a bright shade of red, she felt physically incapable of breaking their eye-contact. He was looking at her so intently it was as if he was trying to commit her appearance to memory. Hermione's face was painfully cold as the icy gale nipped her cheeks but her insides were melting with a scorching heat.

'GRYFFINDOR SCORE! THREE NOTHING TO GRYFFINDOR!'

Professor Snape's head snapped upwards to look at the players, breaking their eye-contact once again. The Slytherins erupted in a chorus of boos and hisses. One of the Slytherins stepped out of the crowd of green and turned to face them. Hermione recognised the thin, weedy figure as that of Theodore Nott, who raised his wand and began to wave it like an orchestra conductor. She braced herself for what was coming next.

'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING! HE CANNOT BLOCK A SINGLE RING! THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING: WEASLEY IS OUR KING!'

'Will you shut up?' hollered Madam Hooch from the sidelines as she glared at the singing Slytherins, who were jumping about in the stands.

'SLYTHERIN! BE QUIET!' barked Professor Snape as he stood up abruptly to glower at the Slytherin stand. His voice was audible even against the roar of the howling wind. After glaring at the Slytherins for several moments, he eventually resumed his seat.

Sheer embarrassment erupted within Hermione as she realised how openly she had been staring at him and how difficult it was for her to divert her attention. It seemed impossible that he could be in any doubt of her feelings.

Her watch showed her that the match had being going on for almost two hours. Although she knew she would have to endure Harry and Ron's typical post-match 30 minute analysis, Hermione felt relief at the fact that, soon, she would be free to return to her dormitory and snuggle under her covers and let sleep relieve her of the chaotic mess of her thoughts.

Ever since her talk with Professor Snape, Hermione's fear of sleeping had vanished, as had her fear for her parents. She missed them greatly and thought about them often, but she did not carry the fears that she had before.

'HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!'

Instinctively, her eyes flickered over to Professor Snape, expecting him to show some reaction to the game, especially given that Slytherin had lost. His head, which had been ducked down to protect his face from the cold, snapped up and, as it did, his eyes latched onto her own. His expression was indescribable and Hermione was powerless to do anything except to look into his dark eyes.

Even though they were separated by the large expanse of grass of the pitch, it felt as though they were back in the classroom; separated by a few benches. His eyes were black and brooding, framed by thick black eyelashes. As she scrutinised his face, she saw that his facial expression looked angry but, after several months of working closely with him, Hermione knew that he was merely thinking.

Their eye-contact continued and Hermione wondered why he did not break it. She knew the minute they broke apart that she would feel mortified but at that moment she found it impossible to care. All that mattered was that she focused on his dark stare.

Suddenly, he wrenched his gaze away from her face and turned to look at Madam Hooch and the descending broomsticks. Hermione shook herself and raised her head to locate the floating figures of Harry and Ron. She clapped along with the crowd, the sound muffled by her thick gloves and she rose from the cold bench.

'Hermione! Where've ye been? It's bin ages since I've seen ye!'

Hermione turned round to see Hagrid stomping towards her. He swept her into a bone-cracking hug that lifted her off her feet.

'Sorry, I haven't been to see you, Hagrid. I've been so busy with my dissertation and extra Potions work, I –'

'I know, I know,' he said, waving her excuses away with his large hand. 'Are ye alrigh'?'

'Yeah, I'm OK, I'm fine,' she squeaked, hoping he would attribute the redness of her cheeks to the bitter cold. 'How have you been? Harry and Ron told me about – about…Aragog.'

Hagrid nodded heavily and, to Hermione's dismay, she saw his eyes water and his bottom lip tremble. His thumb impatiently brushed the tears from his kind eyes.

'Aye, I'm fine, jus' fine,' he said heavily. 'It jus' – it feels like Norbert all over again. Havin' ter say goodbye an' all tha'. Anyway, I'll let ye get back ter the castle – it's freezin' out here.'

Hermione trudged back to the common room along with the throng of students, where she was pulled into a tight hug by Harry that she did not return.

'Happy?' she said acerbically. 'Now that your cheating has paid off.'

Her irritation with him had almost completely faded since the start of the match, but she refused to let him away with it.

Surprisingly, however, Harry winked at her and extracted the bottle of Felix Felicis from his pocket. To her utter shock, the bottle was full, bearing its original seal.

'Oh…so…Ron only _thought_ you put it in and –'

'And it gave him the confidence boost that he needed,' finished Harry proudly. 'That's why he saved everything…because he believed he could do it.'

Hermione looked over at Ron who was surrounded by admirers and she shook her head in bemusement.

'You're a menace,' she said with a reluctant grin as she nudged him playfully. Harry grinned back at her.

'What did you think of Smith's commentary?' he asked her.

Hermione's face turned red. In truth, she had paid very little attention to the commentary due to the volume of her confused thoughts and feelings, which had been racing through her during the game. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Romilda Vane heading towards them with what looked like a box of Chocolate Cauldrons in her arms. Her round, sparkling doe eyes were fixed on Harry.

'Oh, I – er – thought, he was…quite good…' mumbled Hermione sheepishly.

'Quite good?' cried Harry incredulously. 'Did you not see Ginny smash into him at the end of the match? She was furious…no wonder, mind you, after all the things he was saying about the team.'

'Oh. Sorry, I was a bit…distracted,' replied Hermione hurriedly, wracking her brain for excuses. 'I bumped into Hagrid at the end of the match, he was telling me about –'

Hermione's sentence was cut off by a chorus of loud whooping and wolf-whistling, which erupted throughout the room. They turned to look at the crowd and, in the centre of the circle of bodies, they saw Ron with his arms wrapped around Lavender Brown, kissing her fiercely.

Something strange happened inside Hermione; her stomach felt as if it had dropped and something akin to disappointment began to spread throughout her. She did not know why she felt like this; she had suspected that something would eventually happen between them. For weeks, Lavender had been incapable of keeping her eyes off of Ron and Ron had seemed to appreciate this attention.

'I – I just remembered, Harry! I left my – my textbook in the dungeons,' she gibbered, turning towards the portrait hole. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

'Wait, Hermione,' he called after her as he looked at her with concern. 'Are you OK?'

'Hi, Harry!' cried Romilda Vane breathlessly as she swept towards him, taking Hermione's place beside him.

'Of course, I am!' replied Hermione in a high-pitched voice, which sounded too shrill to be genuine. 'Back in five minutes, OK?'

Pushing her way through the crowd, she did not stop walking until she was halfway down the corridor. Her fingers combed through her hair, attempting to straighten out her chaotic thoughts and feelings.

One thing was for certain and that was that she did not fancy Ronald Weasley. She did not share the same feelings for Ron as Harry felt for Ginny.

But there had always been a certain awkwardness between them that left way for something more than friendship. From time to time, Hermione felt Ron looking at her with an intensity and kindness that surpassed friendship. Although she wanted nothing more from him than friendship, it made her feel special and appreciated in a way that she had never felt before.

With her penchant for reading and thirst for knowledge and academic achievement, she knew she was less fanciable compared to other girls. But Ron had made her feel as if these quirks and oddities were part of what made her so special.

Ron's mild jealousy of Viktor had moved her, making her feel special and sought-after, which she had never experienced before. Viktor had liked her purely on a physical level; he had known nothing of her interests, her passions or her personality. Ron, on the other hand, knew her inside out and, even with her strange traits and quirks, he spared her more attention than the other boys in her year. Now that this feeling had gone, she was back to being the boring, plain bookworm.

She did not realise she had been walking along the castle corridors until she saw Ginny trudging up the staircase. The red-haired Weasley girl was still wearing her mud-splattered Quidditch robes and her broom was held tightly in her hand.

'Hermione! Where are you going?' asked Ginny, eyeing her friend anxiously. 'Are you OK?'

'Yeah, I – it's just…it's nothing, I'm OK,' she babbled pathetically. 'What are you doing here?'

'I was speaking to Professor Slughorn. He cornered me after the match...after McGonagall and Hooch gave me into trouble for flying into Smith,' she added irritably. 'He wants to know when you and Harry will be free so that he can set the date for his Christmas party. I don't think either of you will be able to wriggle out of this one.'

'Oh no,' groaned Hermione. She relished the fact that her extra Potions work had taken up all of her free time, which meant that she was never free to attend Slughorn's gatherings.

'I know,' grumbled Ginny. 'Wait until the rest of the school hears about it…I hear some girls have discovered ways of sneaking Fred and George's love potions into Hogwarts…'

'Really?' said Hermione. To her own ears, her voice sounded very far away. 'Poor Harry… he's just been accosted by Romilda Vane, brandishing a box of Chocolate Cauldrons at him, which are undoubtedly filled with Amortentia.'

Ginny grimaced and, for a moment, Hermione thought she saw a rather fierce spark of jealousy in her eyes.

'Do you have any idea who you're going to take?' asked Ginny, whose green eyes had resumed their kind, green sparkle.

'What?' snapped Hermione abruptly.

'We're allowed to take someone, y'know, as a date.'

'But, I don't have a date.'

'Then just take a friend…ask Ron,' said Ginny nonchalantly as she examined her broom.

It was at that moment that Hermione realised what was bothering her. The one person who she had always counted on was no longer there for her; he had somebody else.

'Oh yes,' said Hermione sarcastically. 'Lavender would love that.'

'What?' asked Ginny, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.

'They're in the common room….snogging.'

'You are joking!' cried Ginny loudly, gaping at her incredulously.

'It's true,' said Hermione in a small voice. 'Go and see for yourself.'

'Are you OK about it? I mean – it doesn't bother you, does it? That he's with her…'

'No,' said Hermione firmly and, as she said it, she realised that she meant it. She was glad that Ron had met somebody who cared about him. The feelings that had been stirring within her at the Quidditch match proved that she did not fancy Ron.

'Hermione,' began Ginny tentatively. 'Is there someone that you _do_ like?' she asked with profound astuteness.

'No.' As the lie formed on Hermione's tongue, her situation and confused feelings became remarkably clear to her. There had always been the underlying question of whether she and Ron would become a couple or remain friends. The awkwardness, his jealousy towards Viktor and their constant bickering meant that their friendship held the potential to develop into much more.

She knew however that her feelings for Ron were no greater than they were for Harry; they were both her friends and nothing more. Hermione realised that her feelings were those of envy; Ron reciprocated Lavender's affection and, likewise, Ginny, deep down, wanted Harry as much as he wanted her.

For Hermione, on the other hand, the one person who she desired would never feel the same way about her.


	10. Chapter Ten

Hermione awoke with a loud groan on the following Tuesday morning. Flashbacks from the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match had appeared in her dreams throughout the night, disturbing her sleep and creating an unpleasant feeling of unease. She remembered how she had stared at him longingly, silently hoping for him to look across at her, and the desperate, wistful look that appeared on her face every time she thought of him.

'Cheer up, Hermione,' said Harry encouragingly as she stared blankly at the bowl of porridge in front of her.

'What?' she asked, startled by the sudden sound of Harry's voice. 'I'm fine.'

Harry gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her arm gently.

'Every cloud has a silver lining – it's a four day week, what with the Quidditch match taking up all of yesterday afternoon…only four days until the weekend!'

Hermione grunted in response.

Harry knew nothing of the memories and flashbacks that had been plaguing her – for which, she was grateful – and had assumed that it was Ron and Lavender's new status as a couple that was bothering her. Hermione was happy to let him think that their relationship was the source of her melancholy and remained extremely thankful for the fact that she was the only person who knew of her feelings for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

But, as her mind replayed the eye-contact that they had shared the day before, she reluctantly considered the possibility that he, also, knew of her feelings. Professor Snape was an accomplished Legilimens and could have easily seen into her mind and leafed through the thoughts that had been going through her head.

For Hermione, the only silver lining that came with these new concerns was that she was sufficiently distracted from the slurping noise coming from Ron and Lavender. The porridge in her bowl suddenly lost its allure and her appetite was replaced with the urge to gag. She was not the only one as Harry, also, looked rather queasy and uneasy as he poked his porridge with his spoon, deliberately averting his eyes from Ron and Lavender's lip-lock.

For the first time ever, Parvati Patil had chosen to sit beside them, wearing a resigned and gloomy expression that matched that of Hermione.

'Good game yesterday, Harry,' she said in an attempt to make conversation, avoiding the intertwined couple beside her. She seemed utterly bored by the situation and Hermione could not help but sympathise with her. Lavender, on the other hand, seemed to be totally oblivious to Parvati's presence and had spent the whole morning with her arms curled around Ron's neck, kissing him fervently.

'Fanks,' he replied, swallowing a mouthful of porridge. 'How have you been, Parvati?'

'OK,' she sighed heavily, fidgeting with the long, glossy, black plait that hung over her shoulder. 'Things have been a bit…difficult, lately…My parents heard about what happened to Katie and they've been thinking about taking me and Padma out of Hogwarts.'

'That's awful,' whispered Hermione, joining in the conversation. 'I can't blame them though…poor Katie…Has anyone heard anything about her condition?'

Parvati and Harry both shook their heads.

'She must be doing OK – We would have heard something by now if she wasn't recovering,' said Harry logically as he put his spoon down.

The three of them spent the rest of breakfast in silence, trying to ignore the amorous couple sitting beside them.

The few times that Ron and Lavender had surfaced for air that morning, Lavender's hazel eyes focused immediately on Hermione with a burning glare. Despite the fact that Ron was kissing _her_, it seemed that her dislike of her fellow Gryffindor had not disappeared. At first, Hermione had assumed that Lavender was merely suspicious of her; Lavender was the type of girl to think it abnormal for two people of the opposite sex to spend so much time together when they were not a couple. Racking her brain, Hermione wondered what she had done to offend Lavender.

Nevertheless, whatever Lavender's reasons were, Hermione knew that she would need to keep her distance; she had an uneasy feeling that her girly classmate could become very nasty if her close friendship with Ron continued. Hermione exhaled heavily and rubbed her forehead with her hands. She had known for a while that something might happen between Ron and Lavender, but she had not realised that it would mean spending less time with the boys. Apparently, Lavender did not care if Harry was around, she did not want Hermione in the presence of _her_ boyfriend, regardless of the other company present. At that moment, Hermione wished that Ron had picked a different girlfriend – someone who would not feel threatened by his friendship with her.

Unfortunately, Lavender was present throughout most of the day as she opted to sit next to Ron in every class. Ron, on the other hand, did not seem to understand that neither Harry nor Hermione had any great desire to witness or listen to the sound of slurpy snogging and continued to sit with them. He had no idea that they objected to his newfound, female shadow that spent most of her time with her arms hooked round his neck.

Despite the initial mortification and dread that she had felt at the thought of spending the evening in the company of Professor Snape, by the end of their last class, Hermione was desperate to escape from Lavender's company. She was exhausted from the emotional turmoil that she had been experiencing ever since her life had turned into a sequence of various disastrous scenarios; her sixth year was definitely not turning out how she had hoped.

At dinner, Hermione devoured her stew in three minutes and had cleaned her plate before some people had even picked up their cutlery. She ignored the bewildered look that Parvati was giving her and the look of disgust that Lavender pointed in her direction. Gathering her school bag and books, she quickly wiped her mouth with her napkin and made her way downstairs towards the dungeons.

In the absence of Lavender, her mind was free to hold the memories and flashbacks from the Quidditch game. Her confused feelings and emotions came flooding back and Hermione tried desperately to suppress the leap of joy in her stomach at the thought of seeing him. Yesterday's match had roused Hermione's awareness of her feelings and, to make matters a hundred times worse, she was almost certain that he was conscious of them as well. Her cheeks were stained with red before she had even opened the heavy door of the classroom.

'Evening, sir,' she muttered as she hurried to her desk, tucking a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear. She bent her head over her bag, hiding the red blush that was covering her entire face as she pulled textbooks and pieces of parchment onto the table surface.

'Today, Miss Granger,' he said in an almost lazy tone of voice as he stood up from behind his desk. 'We shall examine the progress of the potion that we brewed a few days ago. The phial is by the sink.'

Hermione chanced a glance up at him and saw that he was looking at her with his usual blank, unreadable countenance. Her heart lightened as she considered the possibility that he knew nothing of the ideas and emotions that had been racing through her during the Quidditch match. Her wide brown eyes closely observed his facial expression, lingering on his narrowed eyes, but she saw nothing in his face that suggested he knew of the feelings that burned through her at the mere thought of him.

Then, suddenly, he opened his mouth to speak.

'Miss Granger?' he said softly.

'Yes, sir?'

'Is there a problem?'

'I – er – what? No, sir!' She paused for a moment in which alarm shot through her. 'Why?' she asked timidly.

'The phial. By the sink. If you could be so kind as to retrieve it…' he said levelly.

'Oh right! Sorry!' Hermione jumped and embarrassedly turned her head away from his face and hurried towards the sink. She was relieved that he was not acting any differently and that he appeared not to have noticed the massive shift in her feelings towards him.

However, as her hand reached for the phial, she felt something like disappointment register in the pit of her stomach. Surely, she should feel relieved that he was not aware of her feelings? Nevertheless, she could not help but feel a sense of dejection… She knew, deep down, that even in the highly unlikely event that her feelings were reciprocated, their relationship could never go beyond that of teacher and pupil. Rubbing her hand against her forehead, she wished she could wipe out all the crazy scenarios going through her mind.

'Headache?'

'Sorry?' Hermione turned round at the sound of his voice; she did not notice that he was watching her fingers massage her forehead. She shook her head. 'Just thinking,' she said as she reached over to pick up the phial of partially-brewed Amortentia, which was resting by the sink. Her thoughts were suddenly distracted by the startling, acid-green colour of the potion.

'Sir, is this…is it _supposed_ to be – er – green?' she asked hesitantly, holding up the phial.

The corners of his lips twisted upwards into a reluctant smirk.

'There are many brewing stages to this potion, Miss Granger, and after the various stagnation periods, the colour changes have a tendency to be quite…drastic.'

'Oh,' she replied in surprise as dread drained out of her. 'I was worried for a moment…'

'Right,' he said decisively, sweeping over to her desk. 'The next part of the process involves reheating the potion at a low temperature until boiling point so that – '

'– bubbles form,' said Hermione, finishing the sentence for him.

'Indeed.'

Together they began assembling the appropriate apparatus on the surface of Hermione's desk.

'Have you got a fresh sheet of parchment to make notes?' he asked.

She held up her quill and several pieces of parchment in response. As she began her notes, describing the potion's appearance subsequent to its first stagnation period, she remembered the conversation she had had with Harry, Ron and Ginny the previous morning and the question that she wanted to ask Professor Snape.

'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'I was wondering…'

'About?'

'Patronuses.'

He lifted his head to look at her inquiringly.

'What about them?' he asked as his black eyes scanned her face.

'Is it possible for someone's Patronus to change?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Just curious. Harry told me –'

Professor Snape stiffened at the mention of Harry's name and Hermione fell silent as she looked at him anxiously, wondering how he would react. When he did not respond, Hermione took a deep breath and continued.

'He said that – that Tonk's Patronus has changed. I never knew that that was possible...'

'In the event of an emotional upheaval, for example, one's Patronus may assume another form,' he said crisply.

'An emotional upheaval? Like if someone you cared about was killed?'

'The Patronus is a projection of the most intense and most powerful positive feelings that human beings are capable of possessing. Generally speaking, the most intense and powerful feeling of human experience is…'

'Love.'

He nodded slowly as he uncorked the phial of Amortentia and poured it into the cauldron.

'Precisely,' he answered softly.

Hermione was caught off guard by the extent of his knowledge of Patronuses. It was common knowledge throughout the school that Snape had a very strong understanding of the dark arts, but it was startling to discover that his grasp of positive, defensive charms was equal to that of dark magic. It was like the time she discovered that Hagrid was just as knowledgeable and well-informed about soft, fluffy animals as well as dangerous, fanged beasts. Until that point, she had assumed that unicorns and Nifflers were _not_ the gamekeeper's main area of expertise.

As she looked at Professor Snape, she wondered what happy memories he thought of when he conjured his Patronus.

_Had he been in love before?_ she wondered. _Perhaps, he was still in love?_

With a jolt, she suddenly realised that they had been working together for months now and she still knew nothing of his personal life. This was not surprising as she knew precious little about her other teachers' private lives. Nevertheless, she had hoped that he would eventually start to open up to her, given that they had been working side by side for such a long stretch of time.

Suddenly, she had a startling recollection of _that_ morning; the one she focused her all of her energy on trying to forget. It was the one, during which, she had revealed everything that Snape had told her to Harry and Ron. She recalled how openly she had discussed everything that he had said and the agony of his absence that had followed. With a painful resurgence of guilt, Hermione realised that she did not deserve to hear the secrets of his personal life.

'These thoughts, which are used to create the feeling of happiness, also _shape_ the form of this…_magical guardian_, as it is also referred to…' he continued as he poured the phial into the cauldron, 'and so, in many cases, the Patronus can resemble that of the person the caster is in love with. If their affections change, then the Patronus will also change.'

'Oh,' replied Hermione. She remained silent for a moment: her musings had brought feelings of guilt to the forefront of her emotions and she felt her replies become monosyllabic.

'Why do you ask, Miss Granger?'

'No reason,' she said in a small voice. 'Just wondering, that's all… After Harry said that Tonks –'

'Is this to do with the spectacle at breakfast?'

'What spectacle?' asked Hermione, turning towards the sink to hide her face.

'The rather nauseating exchange of saliva between Miss Brown and Mr Weasley.'

Hermione was so shocked that she twisted her head round to look at him.

'No, it's nothing to do with that,' she said quickly.

'Are you sure?'

'No, sir, how did you come to that conclusion?'

'You asked me under what circumstances could the form of a Patronus change…' He was looking at her unblinkingly and he had laid down the potion-brewing apparatus. 'And – and your eyes are full of tears,' he added gently.

Hermione turned back to the sink and blinked rapidly. She did not think that he would perceive the warmth that had been growing at the back of her eyes.

'I don't know what has come over me...I seem to be turning into Moaning Myrtle these days,' she said with a slight smile, addressing the tap. 'Me and Ron are just friends…we always have been. It's just – I was just thinking about…things.' She turned to look at him and he met her gaze with a small nod.

After a moment, he returned his attention to the desk and used his wand to light a small, glowing flame beneath the cauldron.

'May I see your notes that you made last time during the first brewing stage?' he asked politely as if their conversation a moment ago had not happened.

Hermione leafed through the sheets of parchment that were splayed out on the table. There was a question lying on the tip of her tongue, but she could not summon up the courage to ask it.

Their hands met as she passed the parchment to him and Hermione felt a red-hot blush flare in cheeks again. It was this fire that sparked her resolve to ask him.

'What shape does your Patronus take, sir?'

He regarded her calmly for a moment.

'A doe.'

This answer surprised Hermione. She could not believe it. If she had to guess, she would have said a serpent or a cold-blooded, reptilian creature. She had foolishly thought he would say a crocodile with his tendency to snap at students. But, a doe was a soft, gentle and feminine creature.

With a pang, she realised that she had completely misunderstood him. She knew he could not be as bitter and cruel as the persona he outwardly displayed. But she never thought about love or that he could feel love to such a magnitude that it shaped his happiness.

Possible thoughts and theories raced through her head. Was he in love with someone with a doe Patronus? Or was the doe a symbol of the soft, gentle nature of the person he was in love with? As the thought crossed her mind, she felt a strange sensation travelling down her throat to the bottom of her stomach. It was a strange combination of hot alarm and misery and it melted her insides. Hermione knew that these sensations were due to the green wave of jealousy that had erupted within her.

'Have you ever performed a corporeal Patronus before?' he asked, interrupting her train of thought.

'Corporeal?'

'Was there a clear shape to it? Weak Patronuses are merely bursts of vapour or smoke, lacking any clear, defined form.'

Hermione nodded shyly.

'It only lasted several seconds though…'

'What form did it take?'

'It looked like…an otter.'

Professor Snape looked at her with a sparkle of admiration in his eye.

'That's quite a feat...How old were you?'

'Sixteen…it was last year. But it was only one time and it took me months and months before I produced more than white vapour.'

Hermione could not suppress the delight she felt and, with a wide grin, she bent her head over the fresh sheet of parchment and began to take notes on the potion's development. Ten minutes passed during which time they worked in a peaceful silence.

'Professor, I was just wondering…has there been any news about Katie Bell?'

'Miss Bell is making a slow recovery…The Healers are doing their best to draw the curse from her body. She's still very weak, but they reckon she will pull through,' he replied curtly.

'When do you think she'll be back?'

'She will not be back before Christmas…Even in the event of a full recovery, her family may decide to keep her at home.'

Hermione thought of what Parvati had told her at breakfast that morning and how her parents were eager to take her and her sister home. She shook her head and continued her notes, trying to erase all thoughts of _her_ home and parents.

Five minutes later, there was a loud knock on the door and Professor Slughorn waddled in.

'Ah, Severus! Oh, you have the pleasurable company of Miss Granger, I see! No worries, this isn't a long visit, I just wanted to say –'

'Yes, Horace?' replied Professor Snape through gritted teeth. 'Get to the point – if I lose count of how many clockwise and counter-clockwise stirs I have made, then, I will be most annoyed and Miss Granger will have to brew a fresh potion.'

Hermione was shocked by the cheekiness with which Professor Snape spoke to Slughorn and she wondered what the old Potions Master had done to make Professor Snape so unfriendly. Slughorn inhaled deeply through his nose, causing the hairs on his moustache to quiver, and slowly his lips split into a wide grin.

'Ah, what's this? Amortentia? Lovely!' he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. 'Not to worry, not to worry, dear boy. I won't keep you long…I just wanted to invite you both to my Christmas party! I want no excuses from either of you – you can both take the night off from all this…working and stirring and writing,' he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. 'We'll have a grand old time!'

Professor Snape eyed him with a frosty dislike, before resuming his stirring of the potion. Slughorn's smile faltered and his eyes widened. He looked like a little boy who had dropped all of his sweets and Hermione felt a pang of sympathy. She shot a glance at Professor Snape who was staring determinedly at the cauldron, before clearing her throat and smiling kindly at Professor Slughorn.

'Sounds lovely, Professor,' said Hermione, breaking the icy silence. 'When is it?'

'Excellent! It's in four weeks! On Thursday the nineteenth of December…The Hogwarts Express leaves on the Saturday morning, so there's plenty of time to get all your packing done for going home for the Christmas holidays! See you both then!'

With a cheerful whistle, Professor Slughorn left the classroom and toddled along the dungeon corridor.

'Wonderful,' said Professor Snape sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

'It seemed rude to decline,' said Hermione defensively. He shot her a vehement glower before turning back to the potion.

'It might not be that bad,' she said, shuffling her notes.

'Really?' he asked acerbically as he raised his left eyebrow.

'What's your problem with Professor Slughorn? Don't you like him?'

'There's very few people I _like_, Miss Granger. There are some who I can tolerate, but that does not meant to say that I _like_ them. Professor Slughorn is one of many who come under neither category.'

'What happened?' she asked, lowering herself into a chair and wiping away the ink stains on her fingers. Professor Snape lifted his head from the cauldron and shook several strands of hair away from his face.

'I shall let the potion simmer for a minute or two,' he murmured, before pulling out a chair and settling into it. 'Professor Slughorn was my Potions teacher when I was a student _and_ my Head of House. My initial impression of him was that he was a lazy, biased wizard, who had no interest in teaching. Holidays, a decent salary and the chance to turn his favourite students into high-ranking members of society and reap the rewards for all the help he gave them seemed to be the only perks of the job. His favourite students were rich, upper-class witches and wizards with famous relatives…the rest were, practically, invisible to him,' he said bitterly. 'For his favourites, he opened up a number of job opportunities and introduced them to the most important, influential people. Yet, the poor, working-class, common students were left to their own devices, barely receiving a word of recognition from him. He was a poor Head of House and rarely dealt with any problems or issues if they did not concern his favourite students. I had a…a hard time in school and, yet, my problems were not his concern and he did nothing to help me.'

Hermione harboured no ill will towards Professor Slughorn, but, after Professor Snape's anecdote, she felt rather disgusted by the wizard's favouritism.

'That's…appalling,' she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. She was grateful to Professor Snape for telling her something so personal. But she knew that he would not want her sympathy. 'I'm sorry that you have to go this Christmas party,' she said after a long pause.

He shook his head and grimaced.

'No matter,' he murmured. Hermione smiled at him softly.

'At least, with this party, I'll be able to stop thinking about Christmas…' muttered Hermione. It was the first time she had voiced the thought that had been plaguing her since the middle of November.

He said nothing but looked at her inquiringly.

'I – it's just – normally, I spend Christmas with my parents…but, now, that isn't an option…' she trailed off pathetically and Hermione realised how trivial her concerns sounded. 'If I could have _anything_ for Christmas…it would be to see them again and to _see_ that they're alright and that they aren't frightened or hurt.'

Professor Snape met her eyes for a second and, in that second, Hermione felt her heart stop beating.

'What about you?' she said brightly, discreetly passing her hand over her eyes. 'What do you want for Christmas?'

'I – er…' His index finger traced a pattern on the table surface as he mulled over his answer. 'There are many things…' he muttered eventually. 'But none of them are...likely or, even, possible.'

With a painful prickle in her heart, Hermione wondered if he was thinking about the person to whom the doe was connected. At that moment, she resolved to get something for Professor Snape as a Christmas present. She knew perfectly well that she was not the person who could furnish him with the things he wanted most. Perhaps, nobody could. But she wanted to give him something that would show her appreciation of his help and the friendship and kindness that he had shown her. He had given her somebody new to talk to and confide in.

The following morning, Hermione ran to Professor Slughorn and accepted his invitation to his Christmas party in exchange for the use of his classroom laboratory for one hour every morning, during the run up to Christmas, with his word that he would keep it a secret. Every morning, between seven o'clock and eight o'clock, she worked hard in Slughorn's classroom, which offered unlimited access to his store cupboards and his potion-making apparatus.

Despite Harry and Ginny's persistent interrogation, Hermione refused to tell them what she was up to when she left the girls' dormitory every morning at half past six. One of the advantages of working in Slughorn's classroom was that she could eat her breakfast in peace as she worked, without enduring Lavender's glower every morning in the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>The news of Slughorn's Christmas party had spread throughout the school like the winter flu and had become the topic of most conversations throughout the year groups. The exclusivity of the party meant that non-Slug Club members could only attend if they were asked out by one of Slughorn's favourites.<p>

The female students of Hogwarts were going to extreme lengths to try and secure an invitation to the party, wearing layers upon layers of makeup, fashioning their hair in different styles every day and fluttering their eyelids at passing Slug Club members. Hermione was one of the precious few females who had no interest in the Christmas party or finding a date. In the first week, alone, Harry had been asked out by four different girls, from various year groups.

One evening, after leaving Ron and Lavender curled up in an armchair together, Harry and Hermione left the common room and spent the evening in the library. Hermione was searching the shelves for books on potion-making, whilst Harry protectively clutched the Prince's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ to his chest, prattling on about Slughorn's party.

'I mean…I know that fifth year girl was quite pretty…but she was about six feet tall! I'd look ridiculous dancing with her…and then that second year, well that's just weird…And Romilda Vane has been cornering me at every given opportunity…'

'For goodness' sake, Harry!' cried Hermione in exasperation. 'I know you can't ask the person who you _want_ to go with…'

Harry blanched.

'How do you know who I want to – ?'

'Because it's obvious!' she whispered urgently. 'Anybody with multiple brain cells can see it!'

'Oh,' said Harry dumbstruck. 'I didn't think anyone knew.'

'They don't…well, at least, I think I'm the only person who has noticed…But you're not really being very subtle about it.'

'I know,' said Harry miserably. 'I wish I didn't fancy her…I mean, she has Dean and she's Ron's sister…'

'You need to try and relax around her.' Hermione felt a twinge of déjà-vu; she had given the exact same piece of advice a couple of years before.

Harry nodded dejectedly.

'I'm trying so hard not to make it obvious…but clearly it's not working if you've figured it out…Are you sure nobody else knows?'

'I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure Won-Won hasn't noticed…' muttered Hermione.

'Hermione…' began Harry despairingly. 'Can't you just –?'

Hermione turned swiftly to face him with a furious glower on her face.

'I beg your pardon, but I have done nothing wrong! It's _her_! She keeps glaring at me and making me feel like I should be keeping my distance and staying away from Ron…it's infuriating!'

Hermione glanced at him and noticed the heavy misery in his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Harry…Ron's just my friend…I know that it's a hundred times worse for you watching Ginny with…Dean.'

Harry nodded.

'I like Dean yet I can't help but feel jealous of him...not only is he going out with her, but he has so much more to offer. He isn't the _Chosen One_! He isn't being hunted by Voldemort!'

'Shhh, not so loud, Harry!'

'…He can actually offer her a future,' he finished bitterly.

They ambled through the library in silence. For once in her life, Hermione had no idea how to comfort him. He was right; their future paths were blocked by the ominous, ever-present shadow of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

'There haven't been any Order meetings for a while…' said Harry suddenly.

'I know…I wondered if it was because of Dumbledore's disappearances…I haven't seen him for over a week and he usually sits in Great Hall during mealtimes…Has he said anything to you about where he goes when he leaves the castle?'

'Nope,' replied Harry, shaking his head. 'He hasn't told me anything…We haven't had one of our meetings in a while either…I know that it's something to do with Voldemort though…'

Hermione suppressed a shiver at the name and ambled over to the library window. Together, they watched Hagrid drag twelve large Christmas trees through the snow into the castle. She decided to change the topic of conversation.

'What has Romilda Vane been saying to you?' asked Hermione, racking her brains for something to say.

'Oh,' said Harry in surprise. 'She gave me a box of Chocolate Cauldrons filled with Firewhisky the other day and she's been hinting that she would like to go to Slughorn's party with me…'

'Don't eat them,' said Hermione urgently. 'You can bet that they'll be filled with Fred and George's love potions…'

Several seconds passed as he processed this information.

'Hang on…' he said, grabbing her arm. 'I thought that everything from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was banned?'

'They are, but Fred and George have disguised their packaging so that their products can slip past Filch's Secrecy Sensors unnoticed…'

Harry looked thoughtful for several seconds before he rubbed his chin with his hand. They walked past the window and strolled down one of the aisles, flanked by tall bookcases.

'Hermione…if students have found a way to sneak forbidden objects into the castle…perhaps Malfoy's doing it too?'

She smacked a hand to her forehead and groaned in exasperation.

'I refuse to listen to this ridiculous theory again...'

'But, Hermione, listen –'

'No, Harry! I've had enough! All you do is check that map and it's…_insane_! If Draco was up to something the teachers would be on to it…Just stop harping on about him,' snapped Hermione.

An awkward silence followed her outburst, creating a frosty tension between them. Hermione turned her head towards the bookcase on her left and began perusing the titles.

'So…' said Harry, attempting to fill the awkward silence. 'Have _you_ got a date for Slughorn's party yet?'

'No,' said Hermione shortly. 'I don't intend on asking anyone either…'

'Me neither,' he replied glumly. 'There's no shame in going alone.'

His shoulders sagged as he walked alongside her; his face was etched with misery. Hermione eventually turned to him with a sympathetic expression and reached out to grasp his shoulder. Little did Harry know that Hermione was experiencing the same problem; she, also, could not take the one person who she wanted to ask to the party.

The only bright spot on the horizon was that Ron and Lavender would not be there. Hermione had barely gotten a word out of Ron since he had started dating Lavender as he spent most of his waking hours with his tongue down her throat.

Hermione and Harry were nothing short of revolted by their constant display of affection. Ginny, also, had refused to sit with them and watch her brother 'eating Lavender's face' as she had described it. Ginny's absence meant that Harry sat silent and dejected during mealtimes and Hermione had resorted to reading at the table to distract herself from the awkward situation.

Parvati was amongst the many females of Hogwarts hoping to be asked to Slughorn's Christmas party.

'Oh, I just _hope_ someone will ask me,' said Parvati wistfully one afternoon as they traipsed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. There had been a slight rearrangement of the seating plan as Parvati had started sitting next to Hermione and Neville at the front of the class, leaving Harry, Ron and Lavender to sit at the back of the room.

Despite the foreboding presence of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Parvati continued to chatter enthusiastically about the party. Hermione, on the other hand, was struggling to keep her eyes open; after spending all her evenings working on her dissertation and catching up with her other classes, in addition to her early morning project in Slughorn's classroom, she was getting very little rest.

'Have you got a date for the party yet, Hermione?' she asked eagerly.

Hermione shook her head, which felt heavy with fatigue.

'I'm not really that bothered about asking someone…' she replied, avoiding making eye-contact with the wizard standing at the front of the class. Although she could not ask the person she wanted, she felt pangs of excitement in the knowledge that he would be at the party as well.

'I really, really, hope that I'll be able to go,' repeated Parvati. She did not seem to have even heard Hermione.

'Look, why don't you just ask someone yourself?' snapped Hermione, who was fed up of listening to Parvati harp on about the party.

'I can't do that!' she said in a scandalised voice as Neville sat down next to them at their table. 'Who would I even ask? I barely know any of the boys in the Slug Club!'

'Well there's…Marcus Belby –' said Neville hesitantly.

'Are you joking? I'd rather go out with the giant squid than…'

'OK, OK,' interrupted Hermione. 'Neville, who else is in the Slug Club? I've not really been to any of the meetings….'

'I wouldn't know,' he said as he pulled his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook out of his bag. 'I was only invited to the first meeting on the Hogwarts Express…that was the only invite I ever got.'

Hermione was instantly reminded of the story that Snape had told her about Professor Slughorn and his selectivity. She felt an instant rush of anger towards the old Potions Master.

'Who else?' asked Parvati urgently.

'Oh, alright…let's see, there's Blaise Zabini…but he's an utter prat,' murmured Hermione.

'Plus he's a Slytherin…I don't think any of them would be seen dead with a Gryffindor date,' said Parvati.

'Let's see…who else…there's Cormac McLaggen…' Hermione stopped speaking as she glanced at the mischievous twinkle in Parvati's eye. 'What?' she asked suspiciously.

'Didn't you know?' she asked in surprise. Her dark brown eyes were wide with amazement and she covered her hands with her mouth.

'Know what?' Hermione asked in bewilderment, turning to Neville for clarification.

'Cormac fancies _you_, Hermione,' she said in excitement. Parvati loved to listen to gossip, but she took even greater delight in distributing it. 'I can't believe you didn't know!'

'Cormac McLaggen?' Hermione repeated in bafflement. 'But I've never even spoken to him…'

'It's true,' supplied Neville. 'I was standing next to Harry and Ron when he came over and asked if they would introduce him to you.'

Amid the surprise that she felt, Hermione could not help but feel faintly pleased. Although she had no romantic interest in the aspiring Quidditch player, she was flattered by this piece of gossip.

Hermione eyes automatically went to Professor Snape, who was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. His face remained deadpan and expressionless, but his cheeks were tinged with pink. What Hermione did not know was that he was trying to hide the fact that he was looking at her and that he had been looking at her for approximately ten minutes straight.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hermione did not know what she had done. Ever since the last Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Snape had been treating her with a cool indifference.

For the past week, the only words that he had said to her were 'hello' and 'goodbye'. If she asked him a question, he gave her a short answer, albeit without any sarcasm or scorn, but Hermione could feel the frostiness in his voice.

Night after night, she tried to recall every little thing that she had said and done over the past couple of weeks, but she could think of nothing to explain his coldness towards her. As she tossed and turned in her bed, she wondered if it was because of Slughorn's party. But, she reasoned, if he did not want to go, he could easily create an excuse or, simply, not show up. Unlike most human beings, Professor Snape did not seem to be burdened with the fear of offending.

His aloofness and rejection of all attempts at conversation made their evenings in the dungeons extremely awkward and fraught with tension. She sighed heavily in exasperation one afternoon as she lit a flame under the cauldron. The potion hissed as Hermione stirred furiously, causing it to splash out of the cauldron and onto the work surface. She felt infuriated with herself and her poor memory. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that she had done something to offend him, she just could not recall what it was.

'Tell me,' she snapped eventually as she threw the stirrer noisily onto the table. 'What have I done?'

She instantly regretted her outburst as he slowly raised his head. His long black hair gently swept backwards along his cheekbones to reveal his pale face and piercing eyes.

'I beg your pardon?' he asked calmly, looking at her over the pile of essays he was marking.

Hermione fell silent as he looked at her; his intense gaze was unnerving and she had completely forgotten what she was about to say. A moment passed, during which time, the anger that she had felt had seeped out of her to be replaced by a tender concern for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'You haven't spoken to me in almost a week…and, not that it matters, but you haven't been helping me with my potion…you've been sitting at your desk marking essays…I know that you're busy…but I can't help but feel that I've done something to annoy you…' she explained, looking at him beseechingly.

He turned his head back to the pile of essays and continued writing. It was as if he had not heard her. Hermione waited for her irritation and exasperation to resurface but, surprisingly, she remained calm and composed, but resilient.

Refusing to back down, Hermione walked over to his desk and stood in front of him.

'Tell me…please,' she said softly.

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to look at the concern with which she was regarding him as she waited patiently for him to respond.

'I – I have been…' He put down his quill and rubbed his face with his hands. Now that Hermione was standing closer to him, her eyes could make out the purple bags under his eyes as well as the stress and the tiredness engraved into his face. After several seconds, he lowered his hands and exhaled heavily. 'It was not my intention to ignore you…My mind has been rather…_occupied_ of late. Forgive me.'

Their eyes met and his lips curled upwards into a small smile, which Hermione returned.

'So, we're OK?'

He nodded slowly in reply.

Hermione turned back to the cauldron and continued to stir the mixture. The weeks leading up to Christmas were turning out to be the most stressful of Hermione's time at Hogwarts. Her hands were full with her dissertation, her N.E.W.T.s and her secret potion-brewing sessions every morning. She was very thankful for the fact that there had been no Order meetings of late as she simply had no free time to spare.

Unlike the rest of the Slug Club members and their dates, Hermione was not at all excited by the thought of Slughorn's Christmas party. In truth, she could not wait for the party to be over. Every day, she was plagued by her fellow students with questions about the party and if she had found a date yet. They did not seem to listen to her adamant protests that she would be attending the party by herself.

'The sooner this party is over, the better!' she said as she stormed into the Potions classroom one evening. Hermione was feeling extremely exhausted and irritated, after spending a particularly gruelling day listening to Parvati repeat 'But you can't go _alone_, you need to find a date!'

It was now only a week until the Christmas party and Hermione had grown very weary of hearing about it.

'I couldn't agree more,' muttered Professor Snape as he peered into the cauldron of Amortentia. Since their conversation a few days prior, he had returned to his normal self. 'You would not believe the number of teenage girls that I have had to send to Madam Pomfrey this week.'

'What for?' asked Hermione curiously as she searched for a blank sheet of parchment.

'To Scourgify their faces…'

Hermione began to giggle but stopped as she looked at his solemn expression.

'I am not joking…the amount of cosmetics that these girls are wearing is ridiculous. Not to mention, the increasing amount of mistletoe appearing all over the castle…'

'I've noticed,' replied Hermione as she thought of Harry's recent avoidance of the main corridors. 'It's mad…They'll do anything just to get an invite to this stupid Christmas party…'

Professor Snape nodded gravely.

'It's even worse than the Yule Ball,' he growled. The memory of the Yule Ball was an unpleasant one for Professor Snape. He had spent the entire evening avoiding Igor Karkaroff and blasting bushes to smithereens, taking points from students snogging amongst the foliage.

'And it's the only thing that people talk about! There's no hope of getting a decent conversation out of anyone…The only things that I've been asked this week are about the colour of my dress robes, how I am going to style my hair and who I am going to take as a date…it's absurd!'

Professor Snape stiffened as she spoke and Hermione noticed a faint tinge of pink appear in his cheeks. But he made no response and continued examining the potion.

They worked in a peaceful silence, but, occasionally, Hermione would raise her eyes to meet his. During these moments, he would not turn away; he maintained their eye contact for several seconds before resuming the task at hand.

Although she would not admit it to anyone, or even to herself, Hermione was eager to see how they would get on at Slughorn's Christmas party. It would be a completely different environment to that of the classroom. She knew, deep down, that nothing could ever happen between them beyond the point of friendship but the smallest part of her could not help but hope.

* * *

><p>Finally, the morning of Slughorn's Christmas party arrived. As Hermione got out of bed on that Thursday morning, she tried her best to ignore Lavender and Parvati's packed suitcases, which were lined up by the door. The sight of their luggage caused a lump to form in Hermione's throat. She wished more than ever that she would be boarding the Hogwarts Express on Saturday morning along with her classmates.<p>

Impatiently, Hermione brushed the tears from her eyes and headed towards the bathroom. She would not have enough time after her classes to apply liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion before the party and so she decided to apply it that morning before her lessons.

It was the first day in weeks that she had not spent the morning working in Professor Slughorn's classroom. Yesterday morning, she had finally completed her work and corked the phial of the secret potion that she had brewed. She was planning on giving the phial as a present and she hoped desperately that her intended recipient would appreciate this gift. As she sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the Sleekeazy Potion to take effect, Hermione allowed herself a brief moment of fantasy, imagining his reaction to her gift.

As she examined her reflection in the mirror, ten minutes later, Hermione let out a small gasp of surprise. Her natural curly, almost frizzy, hair had transformed into smooth, sleek, silky tresses. Even the colour of her hair looked different and she identified several different tones of brown in her hair instead of just one.

She tentatively reached out her hand and caressed the smoothness of her locks. Hermione could barely believe that she looked like the pretty girl smiling hesitantly at her in the mirror. With a brief glance at her watch, she quickly changed into her school robes and hurried out of the girls' dormitories.

The boys did a double-take as she joined them in the line outside the Transfiguration classroom.

'Wow, Hermione,' said Harry as his eyes widened. 'You look – er –'

'Different,' said Ron, gaping at her. It was the first word that Ron had said to her in weeks and Hermione could not help but smile.

'Thanks,' she said with a slight blush. 'Sleekeazy's Hair Potion…I thought I'd use it for the party tonight –'

At that moment, Lavender Brown appeared and she, too, was gaping at Hermione in shock. Hermione ducked her head and inched herself away from Ron as she avoided Lavender's eye. After a few moments, the blonde Gryffindor's shock subsided and a look of fury crossed her face as her eyes flickered between Ron and Hermione.

To Hermione's great relief, the classroom door opened and Professor McGonagall ushered the students inside. Lavender suddenly took hold of Ron's hand in a fierce grip and hauled him away from Hermione.

'What were you doing speaking to _her_?' she snarled in his face, not bothering to lower her voice. Her usual peach complexion had turned scarlet with rage.

'I wasn't doing anything!' said Ron defensively, holding his hands up in surrender. 'She came over to talk to Harry…Look, Lav, she's my friend –'

'_Friend_? Don't make me laugh! You haven't spoken to her in weeks!' cried Lavender dramatically.

'I know but –'

'Ah, a lovers' tiff?' asked Professor McGonagall loudly as she stood at the front of the classroom. Her arms were folded tightly and although there was a hint of humour in her voice, it was clear that their Head of House did not appreciate the interruption. Lavender turned an even darker shade of red as the class turned to look at her. 'I must say that although this is preferable to the relentless, revolting…canoodling, which we have had to witness for weeks on end, I would prefer it, Miss Brown, if you did not interrupt my class.'

Lavender crossed her arms and turned away from Ron, scowling at Hermione who was sitting on the other side of the classroom.

'You look nice, Hermione,' said Parvati cheerily as she sat next to her. Hermione had no idea how she had somehow replaced Lavender as Parvati's new best friend. But, for the past several weeks, she had chosen to sit next to Hermione during every mealtime and every class. Although Hermione was certain that Parvati was only sitting next to her because she had lost Lavender, it was nice to have somebody to talk to, especially since she could no longer hang about with Harry and Ron.

The mixture of Slytherin and Gryffindor N.E.W.T. students filed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with a restlessness that only the second last day of the term could bring about. Their teacher registered this restlessness with an inward groan as he held the door open to admit them. Only two of his students entered the classroom in solemn silence; Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

Draco's face was gaunt and pale to the point of green. To Hermione, he looked exhausted and defeated and, to her surprise, she saw Professor Snape watching him with something akin to pity and fear. However, his expression changed as he turned towards her. She saw his dark eyes widen in surprise and briefly scan her face, before he lowered his gaze and motioned for her to precede him into the classroom.

'_Please_ tell me that you've found a date for this party tonight!' whispered Parvati as Hermione squeezed into the seat between Parvati and Neville. Parvati had resigned herself to the fact that she would not be attending the party and her latest interest had been in finding Hermione a date. 'Even Loony Lovegood has a date for this party!'

'Don't call her that, Parvati,' said Hermione reproachfully. 'She's really nice and she doesn't have many friends…I'm glad that someone's asked her to go to the party…Who is she going with?'

'Harry asked her after Transfiguration…She was standing talking to Ron Weasley's sister and he just walked over to her and asked her.'

'Potter?' cried an incredulous voice behind them. Neville, Parvati and Hermione turned to see Blaise Zabini staring at them in delighted disbelief. 'Potter's taking Loony Lovegood to Slughorn's party?' He clapped his hands and roared with laughter. Draco, on the other hand, was staring straight ahead as if he could not see or hear the events going on around him.

Hermione opened her mouth to snap at Blaise, but stopped as Neville laid a gentle hand on her sleeve.

'Leave it, Hermione,' he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 'Snape's watching…'

Even through her sleeve, Hermione could feel Neville's sweaty palm and she felt a pang of sympathy for Neville or the fact that he could not get over his fear of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She gave Blaise a filthy look before turning to face the front of the class. Professor Snape was eyeing her coolly under raised eyebrows.

'Clearly,' he began in a soft growl, 'you are all…_preoccupied_ by the approaching holidays and by this evening's festivities. However…may I remind you that this is Thursday, you still have two more hours with me until the end of term and so…' He continued to speak slowly and quietly so that the students had to remain utterly silent in order to hear him. 'I advise you to take _extra_ care or you may find yourselves knee-deep in homework over the holidays. The next person to interrupt my class will be given detention tomorrow night and a month's worth of homework.'

The class exhaled silently as Professor Snape finished speaking. Like so few teachers, he rarely found the need to raise his voice in order to be heard.

After two hours of working in complete silence, the bell rang and the students began to pack away their parchment and textbooks. Hermione hurried to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for Slughorn's Christmas party.

It took her an hour to perfect her makeup as she was a novice at applying cosmetics. She contemplated styling her hair before she decided to let her sleek and shiny locks fall over her shoulders. Her dress robes were different from the ones she had worn to the Yule Ball as they no longer fitted her. She had ordered new, dazzling red robes that contrasted greatly with the periwinkle blue robes, which she had worn in her fourth year. Her scarlet robes glittered in the candle light as if they were made up of sparkling, red rubies. Hermione smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she turned in all directions to examine her appearance from varying angles. She could not believe how…different she looked.

All of a sudden, Hermione heard the sound of footsteps traipsing up the stairs and the click of the door handle as Parvati entered their dormitory. She gazed at Hermione in disbelief before clapping her hands together in delight.

'You look lovely!' she said in breathless wonder. 'That colour really suits you!'

Hermione smiled sheepishly.

'You think so?' she asked shyly. 'I'm not very good at putting on makeup and I wasn't sure if my robes were too bright…'

Parvati shook her head, wiggling her plait.

'You look amazing…but you've smudged your eye makeup. Come here, I'll help you.'

The girls sat on Hermione's bed and Parvati used a tissue to wipe away the smudges around Hermione's eyes. With painstaking care, Parvati reapplied Hermione's eyeliner and eye shadow with a deftness that came only from experience.

'There!' she said proudly after a few minutes. Parvati leaned backwards to admire her work. 'You look great...just remember that you're wearing makeup so don't rub your eyes! Or cry! Or do anything that might spoil my masterpiece.'

Hermione nodded and smiled appreciatively.

'Have a great time and tell me all about it when you get back!'

* * *

><p>Slughorn's office was the largest of all the teacher's offices that Hermione had been in. However, after a few moments of gazing around the room, she began to suspect that he had cast an Enlargement charm in order to accommodate all of his guests. As Hermione walked into the centre of the room she could feel the presence of the magic that had expanded Slughorn's office and she could hear the sound of gentle music, which was issuing from a distant corner. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson and gold hangings, giving the room an air of festivity. An ornate golden lamp was suspended from the ceiling, bathing the room and the guests in a warm red light. To her surprise, the majority of the guests were Slughorn's old students and friends. But, as her eyes scanned the crowds of people scattered around the room, she could pick out a few members of the Hogwarts faculty and fellow classmates.<p>

She ambled over to the table bearing drinks, wishing that she had arranged to meet up with Harry and Luna or, even, Ginny and Dean beforehand. Her stomach felt heavy with nerves and her arms were tingling, but she could not understand why she felt this way. She craned her neck, looking for the familiar faces of her friends, but she knew, deep down, that there was one face in particular that she was searching for.

Hermione had drunk two glasses of mulled wine before she finally heard a familiar voice.

'Hello, Hermione!' said Luna cheerily, reaching for a glass of mulled wine. Hermione had never been more pleased to see the eccentric Ravenclaw girl in all her life.

'Hey, Luna,' she replied, smiling brightly, 'where's Harry?' Hermione stood on the tips of her toes as she peered over the crowd of people.

'He's talking to Professor Slughorn. But I saw that you were standing here by yourself so I thought I'd come over and keep you company,' said Luna, who was smiling vacantly at her and stirring her drink with her finger. Hermione had not forgotten about Luna's many oddities, but she was pleased to a familiar face. Despite the fact that it was not the one she was looking for.

'How are you finding fifth year?' asked Hermione, racking her brains for something to say. Hermione did not agree with many of Luna's mad philosophies and beliefs, which had caused several disagreements between them in the past. However, since the previous year and the events at the Ministry, she had warmed considerably towards Luna.

'It's been a bit lonely without the DA,' said Luna, sucking the finger that she had used to stir her wine. Luna had a habit of revealing awkward truths, making other people feel very uncomfortable. 'But I'm very pleased that Harry invited me here as a friend,' she continued cheerily.

Hermione smiled warmly as she felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl; she knew only too well what it was like to feel lonely.

Suddenly, her eyes clapped on Harry who was walking towards them, accompanied by Professor Slughorn and a small, bespectacled man.

'Ah Miss Granger!' cried Professor Slughorn, wrapping an arm round her. She could feel his warm breath hit the side of her face and she knew that he had had one too many glasses of mulled wine. 'This is an old student of mine…Elbred Wopple...' He hiccupped loudly. '…I mean…Eldred Worple…he's going to write Harry's biography!' he cried triumphantly.

'Really?' said Hermione in feigned interest, politely extracting herself from Slughorn's drunken embrace.

'As I was saying…Mr Potter, we could have the book finished within months, if you'll grant me a few interviews…'

'I'm definitely not interested,' replied Harry firmly. He glanced at Hermione's bemused expression and rolled his eyes at the two men.

'If you're sure –' said Worple dejectedly before the tall man to his left caught his attention. 'Sanguini, come back here!'

Hermione's heart jumped as her eyes clapped upon a tall man wearing a black frock coat.

But, to her dismay, she saw that Worple was addressing a tall, emaciated man dressed in black, who bore dark shadows under his eyes. As the group turned their attention to him, Hermione could see that he did not even slightly resemble their Defence Agaainst the Dark Arts teacher. He was staring longingly at a gaggle of girls, who were looking at him with curiosity.

'That must be the vampire,' whispered Luna in Hermione's ear.

'What?' asked Hermione in confusion.

'There was a rumour going about that Slughorn had invited a vampire…That must be him!' she replied, sipping her wine. Hermione peered at the man curiously. She was used to Luna spouting her bizarre ideas, but as she looked at Sanguini's appearance, she wondered if there was any truth to what Luna was saying. Sanguini's eyes scrutinised the faces that were looking up at him, lingering for a moment longer on Hermione's face. A sense of unease prickled down her spine and she fixed her gaze on the glass of wine in her hands.

'Ah, of course, this is my friend…Sanguini,' said Worple, gesturing to the man beside him. 'A vampire, obviously, but quite harmless…In my book, _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_, I point out the connections between the wizarding race and that of vampires and how we're not, actually, all that different. In truth, most vampires wish to coexist with humans…I met Sanguini, here, when I was working in France –'

'Isn't Sanguini an Italian name?' asked Luna curiously. Hermione suppressed a giggle; it was just like Luna to question the etymology of a vampire's name.

'It derives from the French word 'sang', my dear…_Stay here, Sanguini!_ Here, have a pasty!' said Worple, seizing a plate of pasties from a nearby table and thrusting it into Sanguini's hands.

'_Blood Brothers_?' announced a familiar voice, laced with icy sarcasm. Hermione's heart jumped as she heard the sound of Professor Snape's voice and the glass between her fingers began to tremble. She could feel him standing behind her from the sudden warmth that covered her back and Hermione wanted nothing more than to lean back against his warm torso. She edged to the side to make room for him in the circle of bodies. 'I have never come across anything so poorly written and inaccurate in all my years of research into magical creatures. It is nothing but drivel,' he announced scornfully. 'It falsely portrays vampires to be amiable creatures and, even, goes so far as to draw similarities between human beings and vampires.'

'Now, wait, just a moment, young man,' began Worple angrily, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. 'I have done my research! I spent months amongst the vampire community and I –'

'– know nothing of vampires,' finished Professor Snape coldly.

He looked around the group with a cold indifference until his eyes fell on Hermione. His nostrils flared as he inhaled and his eyes flickered over her face and her body, sheathed in her red robes. Imperceptible to anyone except Hermione, he closed his eyes for half a second and bowed his head towards her. She felt her cheeks turn red as a warm blush filled her face.

He was dressed in a black frockcoat, as was his norm, but it was different from the one he wore in class. In the glow of the red light, emitting from the huge ornate lamp above them, his long hair looked shiny and glossy. It was not his physical appearance that kept Hermione entranced; it was the expression on his face as he looked at her. His eyes were narrowed slightly and his lips were parted; it was the expression he wore when he was thinking deeply about something.

Despite the company that surrounded them, Hermione could not tear her gaze away from his face and she wished that this moment would last for eternity. However, after a few seconds, Professor Snape seemed to stir from his reverie and turned his eyes briefly to the rest of the group before opening his mouth to speak.

'Miss Granger, might I have a moment with you to discuss your dissertation?'

'Come now, Severus! It's Christmas! Don't go nattering on about work! Drink! Be merry!' cried Slughorn, suppressing a large belch as he raised his glass of mulled wine into the air to emphasise his point.

Professor Snape eyed him disdainfully through narrowed eyes.

'Of course, sir,' said Hermione, walking quickly away from the group to an abandoned corner of the room. Professor Snape followed swiftly behind her. He was so close to her that Hermione could feel the warmth from his body.

Once they were out of earshot, his gaze met her own and Hermione could not concentrate on anything else other than the way he was looking at her. His expression was no longer contemplative; on the contrary he looked troubled and almost worried. But his eyes held a sparkle of some feeling or emotion that Hermione could not put her finger on.

'Hermione, I –'

Hermione had chosen that moment to take a sip of her wine and, consequently, choked as, for the first time ever, he called her by her first name.

'Yes, sir?' she said breathlessly. She placed her glass on the table beside her as her wide eyes looked at him expectantly.

'I wanted to –'

'Yes?'

'To warn you,' he said suddenly, brushing a hand over his forehead.

'Warn me?' she asked in bewilderment. 'What do you mean?'

They were standing inches apart and slowly he leaned his head down towards her. For one, earth-shattering moment, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her and her heart drummed violently in her chest. But he merely brought his lips to her ear.

'Be careful of that vampire,' he hissed.

Hermione was confused and embarrassed. She had hoped that this party would have been a perfect opportunity for their friendship to develop and to find out more about him. She had fantasised about him opening up to her, bringing them closer together. But, for some reason, he was choosing to warn her about vampires. She had hoped that seeing her out of her school robes and the abundance of mulled wine would have given him the courage to tell her that he shared her feelings.

This was the fantasy that had been playing in her mind's eye since she knew of the party. Despite the unlikelihood of her fantasy, she had hoped for a more personal and less serious conversation than the one that he insisted on having with her. Hermione looked downwards at her feet, praying for the red blush in her cheeks to dissipate.

'They are calculating and cunning creatures,' he continued. 'I would have expected more common sense – even from the likes of Horace! If the Headmaster knew...' Professor Snape shook his head before looking up at her. 'I am warning you to watch out.'

'But, sir, why are you warning _me_?' she asked.

'Look over my shoulder, Miss Granger.'

Hermione obligingly peered over her teacher's shoulder to see Sanguini eyeing her with interest. There was a hungry sparkle to his leer and, despite the safety of the situation, Hermione could not help but shudder.

'Oh,' she gulped.

'Vampires are _very_ dangerous, I –'

'But, sir, it is unlikely that anything will happen. Mr Worple will keep an eye on him –'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' replied Professor Snape darkly as he shot a glance at the man in question. Eldred Worple seemed thoroughly distracted by whatever Professor Slughorn was saying as he laughed loudly, spilling wine onto the floor.

'Mind that you stay with your friends...I do not want to find your drained carcass in an abandoned classroom tomorrow morning.'

On that note, he disappeared as fast as if he'd Disapparated and Hermione could not help feeling bitterly disappointed.

She reluctantly walked back to the group to join Harry, who was engaged in conversation with a drunken Professor Slughorn. Luna, on the other hand, was talking to Hermione's least favourite teacher; Professor Trelawney. The Divination teacher seemed to be fascinated by Luna's anecdote about the Rotfang Conspiracy; the Auror's plan to overthrow the Ministry using dark magic and gum disease.

She knew that she could not easily underestimate a warning from Professor Snape but, similarly, she could not see how she was in danger in a crowd of such magnitude. But there was no denying the discomfort and unease that the vampire made her feel.

Hermione strolled over to the drinks table to refill her glass of mulled wine as she was not in the mood to converse with either Professor Slughorn or Professor Trelawney. From what her ears could discern, it seemed that Professor Trelawney felt most bitter about sharing her classes with Firenze, the handsome centaur who joined the Hogwarts faculty earlier that year.

Casting a subtle glance over the crowd of people, Hermione wondered where Professor Snape had gone. She regretted having ever agreed to come to the party as it was turning out to be much different to how she had imagined. She had imagined herself immersed in conversation with Professor Snape, talking like old friends instead of teacher and pupil. But, in reality, she was standing on her own, thinking wistfully about her teacher.

'Hermione!' cried Ginny. Hermione looked around and, to her delight, she saw the red haired girl heading towards her. She was wearing emerald green robes that went magnificently with her pale skin. 'You look lovely!'

'Thanks, you too,' said Hermione with a smile. 'Where's Dean?' she asked curiously, handing her a glass of mulled wine.

Ginny gave her a significant look and she downed the glass of mulled wine in one gulp.

'We had a fight…I don't know where he is,' said Ginny miserably. She stood with her back to the table and glanced around the room before turning to Hermione. 'Have you seen Harry?' she asked in a feigned casual voice.

'Yeah, he's with Slughorn…' Hermione stared at Ginny with raised eyebrows. Ginny met her friend's gaze before turning towards the jug of mulled wine and refilling her glass.

'Stop staring at me like that, Hermione,' snapped Ginny as she concentrated on pouring the heavy jug of wine into her glass.

'Ginny…' began Hermione softly. 'Why are you with Dean? We both know fine well that you want to be with –'

'I know, Hermione,' cried Ginny in exasperation, slamming her glass onto the table, causing wine to slop out over the side. 'I know, I know that what I'm doing is terrible…But I'm just taking your advice! You told me to go out with other boys and –'

'That was before…'

'Before what?' asked Ginny, looking at her through narrowed eyes. Hermione swallowed nervously as she deliberated; she was not sure if it was her place to tell Ginny, but she knew that Harry would never have the guts to tell her whilst she was with Dean.

'Before he started liking you,' said Hermione with a small smile. She pulled out her wand with numb fingers and used it to clean the spilled wine that was slowly spreading over the table.

Ginny stared at her through her green eyes in disbelief.

'Oh,' she said simply. The girls stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music of the Weird Sisters. 'Should I say something to him?'

'Not while Dean's still on the scene,' replied Hermione, sipping her glass of wine. She looked around the room, searching for the source of music as there was neither a live band nor any record player as far as she could see.

Ginny nodded slowly, contemplating her glass.

'Hermione, since we're on the topic…who do you like?'

She turned to look at the astute Weasley in bewilderment.

'I…' she paused before she hiccuped loudly. 'I – there's nobody that I like…'

Hermione felt strange; she felt a sense of rising warmth, which was not purely down to the red blush covering her body. She had her suspicions that the copious amounts of mulled wine were contributing to the red blush and the growing numbness taking over her body.

'Come on, Hermione, it's obvious that you like someone…At first, I thought it was Ron…but something's telling me that it's not him. Please, tell me,' said Ginny, nudging her gently. The slight nudge caused Hermione to lose her balance and she felt herself begin to topple over.

'Careful, Hermione,' said Harry, leaping forward and grabbing her arms to pull her upright. 'Are you OK? How many of those have you had?' he asked, nodding towards the glass in her hand.

'Oh, Harry, leave her be,' said Ginny, refilling Hermione's glass. 'It's Christmas and goodness knows she could do with a bit of relaxation.'

'I'm fine, Harry,' said Hermione, putting a hand to her forehead. 'I just felt a bit dizzy.'

'You look smart, Harry,' said Ginny kindly. Hermione was thankful for the diversion and she could not suppress a smile as Harry stared in silent amazement at Ginny.

It was as if he was truly seeing her for the first time.

His green gaze scanned briefly over her body, but remained fixed on her face. For several minutes, he gaped at her in breathless wonder.

'You – you look wonderful, Ginny,' he murmured softly. Even under the delicate layer of powder, it was clear that she was blushing from the roots of her red hair to her neck.

Hermione smiled softly and slowly sauntered away, leaving the two of them alone together. Luna remained deep in conversation with Professor Trelawney, who was emitting a strong odour of cooking sherry and Dean was nowhere to be seen. Even in her state of misery, Hermione could not help but feel hopeful for the relationship between her two friends.

She paced around the room, occasionally nodding to her classmates and teachers, but she could not find the one teacher that she was looking for. Her eyes hungrily scanned the brightly coloured robes of the crowd, looking for the black, voluminous robes of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The effect of the mulled wine did not seem to be dissipating; on the contrary, Hermione felt a heightening sensation of numbnessl as she strolled around the room. Her limbs were tingling and her thoughts were confused and jumbled. Suddenly, her eyes clapped on a dark figure, clothed in black, and she stumbled forward.

'Sir!'

'Bonsoir mademoiselle,' said a quiet, unfamiliar voice. Hermione raised her eyes and saw that she was looking into the face of Sanguini and not that of her teacher.

'Oh, hello again,' she said in an attempt to sound cheerful, but she could not hide the disappointment in her voice. Nevertheless, the vampire did not seem to notice as he stepped towards her.

'Enjoying the party?' she asked brightly. In her tipsy state, Professor Snape's advice did not seem very relevant or important and she did not hear the alarm bells ringing at the back of her mind.

'Oui,' he replied. 'I mean…heu…yes…I am enjoying this party very much,' he replied in a very strong French accent.

Although Hermione did not take heed of Professor Snape's warning, there was no mistaking the leer in Sanguini's eye and the hunger that animated his sunken, emaciated features. A strong wave of unease washed over Hermione and she longed to make her way back into the centre of the crowd. As she looked around her, she saw that she and Sanguini were standing near the door leading out of Slughorn's office, which lay metres from the horde of witches and wizards.

'Anyway, I better get back to – to my friends,' she said brightly. Hermione made to turn away from Sanguini's threatening smile until she felt his cold fingers clasp around her numb, tingling wrist.

'Attendez!' he uttered in a hoarse voice as he took a step towards her. His eyes, which had previously looked dead and lifeless, were now alive with malice and hunger. Her forearm felt like jelly as she tried to shake off his grasp. She looked into his face in alarm, wondering why he was holding her with such a grip, but his leering eyes and parted lips spoke volumes.

She opened her mouth to cry out, but his other hand slithered to her throat and squeezed hard, preventing her from making any sound. Hermione had greatly underestimated the vampire's strength and, with great ease, he began to drag her towards the darkened, unlit corner of Slughorn's office.

With a sudden clarity of mind, she frantically reached into her pocket for her wand, her fingers groping about her pockets helplessly. But the vampire was cutting off her oxygen supply and Hermione abandoned her search of her wand and tried to pry his hand away from her throat. Her nails scratched feebly against his tough, impenetrable ivory skin.

The fingers that were wrapped round her wrist pressed into her veins, feeling the flow of blood under his touch. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, tracing her veins with his mouth. With her free hand, she continued to claw at the hand that was squeezing her throat but it did not seem to have any effect on the vampire's skin. Using all her strength, she attempted to unhook the vampire's fingers, but his grip was too powerful.

He spun her around so that her back was crushed against his torso. He hooked one arm around her waist, holding her to him as the fingers of his other hand clasped around her throat once more.

The long, pale fingers danced under her chin as he lowered his head to the nape of her neck and inhaled deeply.

She prayed that somebody would see them. It seemed impossible that no one had spotted them. But the wine was effective and the music was loud. Everyone was engrossed in conversation and the other delights of the party. Nobody seemed to have noticed the vampire lurking in the shadows, squeezing the life out of Hermione.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Warning: Up until now, this story has been relatively conservative. I feel the need to mention that this chapter is the turning point in this story, where it earns its 'Lascivious' rating. Just a quick heads up for those who might find this new addition unexpected.**

Hermione felt helpless as she struggled against the vampire's grip.

His skin was as tough as that of a dragon and his bones were as strong as iron. Her vision began to darken as his grasp prevented any oxygen from entering her lungs. She felt faint and sick as her hand continued to scrabble at his fingers. She did not see the door open or the dark figure that appeared in front of her.

Suddenly, she felt a warm hand cover her fingers, which she was using to break the vampire's grip on her throat, and she saw a lit wand tip pointing at Sanguini's face.

'I must ask you not to manhandle my students,' growled a threatening, low voice. Hermione had never been more relieved to hear his voice in all her life. It was laced with a fury that she had never heard before.

Sanguini eyed Professor Snape for a moment as the wizard pressed his wand tip against the vampire's cheekbone. Eventually, Sanguini loosened his grip on Hermione's wrist and her neck. She tore herself away from him, gasping for air. At first, she could only discern fuzzy shapes but, gradually, as she hauled oxygen into her lungs her vision returned.

Hermione massaged her wrist and her throat soothingly and, to her horror, she saw that her forearm was stained with blooming, purple bruises.

It took a minute for Hermione to realise that Professor Snape was steering her out of Slughorn's office into the corridor. His hand was placed on the small of her back, pushing her along the corridor. Sanguini seemed to have vanished entirely. The cool air hit her face and Hermione felt the effects of the alcohol drain out of her.

'Thank you, sir,' she whispered once they were out of ear shot. She bent over and allowed her breathing to return to normal. After several minutes, she straightened her spine and looked at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Professor Snape was breathing heavily and staring down the corridor. There was an angry tic in his cheek and his chest heaved as he exhaled loudly. Hermione could tell that he was furious with her and she opened her mouth to apologise.

'What was he thinking?' he snarled turning his back on her. He began to pace up and down the corridor, causing his black robes to billow behind him. 'Bringing that beast into the castle...Slughorn and Worple are both to blame. The Headmaster adds protective enchantments to the castle _daily _to ensure the safety of the students...and here's Slughorn, allowing other dangers to walk through the front door with a smile and a pasty!'

'But, sir,' she began hesitantly. Hermione could not remember seeing him this angry; his face was deathly white and his dark eyes were filled with a burning fury. 'It's the same as the prejudice concerning werewolves…I thought that vampires, in general, were quite –'

He turned to her to give her a scathing look as his nostrils flared in fury. Hermione winced as she spoke and rubbed her throat with her fingers. She could feel the painful bruises on her neck.

'They are completely different, Miss Granger,' he snapped. 'Werewolves lose control of their human sides once every full moon. A transformation which can be mitigated by drinking the Wolfsbane potion. Vampires, on the other hand, do not have a human side. Their hunger is too great...Their physical resemblance to humankind is merely a façade in order to make their hunt easier. Their attack is more cunning, less conspicuous, which does not make them more human…only more dangerous.'

'All vampires aren't like that though…I imagine some of them would want to change and integrate into wizarding society…'

'For food!' he barked.

'Why are you getting so angry?' she retorted, stepping towards him. 'You're not the one who was just attacked by one!' she shouted, showing him the bruises on her neck and her wrist.

Fury filled his face and he recoiled as he looked at the ugly marks on her body.

'Then why do you defend them?' he snarled. 'I told you to be careful! I _told_ you!'

'I know, I know,' said Hermione defensively, raising her hands. 'I'm sorry…All I'm saying, sir, is that you can't generalise an entire race…not all werewolves have a human side. Look at Fenrir Greyback!'

Severus flinched and Hermione snapped her head round to look at him curiously.

During the summer holidays, Lupin had told her about Fenrir Greyback and how he had been bitten by the feral wolf as a young boy. That was not the only time that the vicious werewolf's name had cropped up that summer. Upon following Draco Malfoy during their trip to Diagon Alley, Hermione, Harry and Ron had discovered that he was blackmailing the shopkeeper in Borgin and Burkes by threatening to send Fenrir Greyback in to his shop for a visit. Malfoy's threat, along with the stories that Lupin had told her about Greyback, illustrated how terrifying he was. Hermione could not blame Professor Snape for flinching at his name.

'I told you to be cautious,' he snarled.

'Well, I thought I would have been safe,' replied Hermione, lamely. She tilted her head to look at the floor. 'There were people everywhere…I didn't think anything could happen to me.'

'On the contrary, many things could go unnoticed during an occasion like this. Everyone is distracted; eating, drinking, talking…all he would have needed to do would have been to put a Disillusionment charm on you –'

'Can vampires perform magic? I thought they'd need a wand…' interrupted Hermione. His nostrils flared as she interrupted him and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he glared at her.

'You can bet that that is why he is hanging around with Worple,' muttered Professor Snape. 'To learn how to produce magic…and to drain him dry afterwards…'

Hermione gulped as her hands went to her throat.

'They're not stupid creatures, Miss Granger. It would have been so _easy_ for him. Nobody would have noticed,' he growled as he glowered at the floor.

'You would've noticed, sir.'

He lifted his gaze and looked at her and, as he did, he nodded slowly. He took a tentative step towards her, which Hermione mirrored. He raised his fingers and cradled her chin, tilting it to the side, as he examined the bruises on her neck.

As she looked into his eyes she saw that they were not black at all; they were the darkest shade of brown that she had ever seen. She smiled gently at this revelation and took another step towards him. Their robes were touching and his face was so close that she could only see his eyes.

'We should go back to my office,' he murmured softly, not taking his eyes off of her.

It took Hermione several seconds to register the sound of his voice.

'What?' she asked breathlessly. His fingers gently caressed her neck, sending a pleasant shiver through her body.

'Those bruises will need Healing Potions,' he whispered.

'Oh. Yes. You're right.' She took a hasty step back from him and bowed her head to look at the floor.

Embarrassment filled her cheeks as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Mr Filch appeared with his hand gripping the neck of Draco Malfoy's robes.

'Ah, Professor Snape, I found this boy lurking in a corridor upstairs, claiming to have been invited to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party,' said the caretaker, puffing his chest out importantly. Draco scowled at Mr Filch through narrowed eyes.

Professor Snape looked at Draco with an almost fearful curiosity.

'I'd like a word with you, Draco,' said Professor Snape firmly. 'Thank you, Argus.'

'Certainly, Professor,' he snarled in response, pulling himself out of Filch's grip. Mr Filch nodded to Professor Snape and began to retrace his steps along the corridor.

Professor Snape turned to Hermione with an irritated expression imprinted on his face.

'I must speak with Mr Malfoy…Return to the party and wait for me there,' he muttered, turning his back on her. 'Stay with your friends,' he snarled.

Hermione watched Professor Snape and Draco march further along the corridor and enter a deserted classroom. She wondered why Draco's appearance had made him so angry.

'Hi, Hermione, where did you get to?' asked Ginny curiously. 'What on earth are those bruises on your neck?' she gasped, examining Hermione's neck.

Hermione's face turned scarlet.

'I went to – to the bathroom…to be sick…I think I drank too much and I must have been gripping my throat,' she babbled wildly. Ginny continued to look at her suspiciously until Luna appeared suddenly by her side. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as Luna launched into a long story about Rufus Scrimgeour and her father's evidence that he was, in fact, a vampire.

Hermione tuned out as she tried to erase the memory of her encounter with Sanguini. She did not dare to look around in case she saw him. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the memory of Professor Snape. She recalled how smooth his skin looked and how she had wanted to reach out and touch him.

'Fancy a dance?'

Hermione looked up from her reverie to see a very confident, yet unwelcome, Cormac McLaggen strolling towards her. Hermione recalled her conversation with Neville and Parvati and groaned inwardly.

She shook her head and pointed to Luna and Ginny, signalling that she was mid-conversation with the two girls. But, to her horror, she saw that they had both vanished.

'Come on, Hermione,' he said, reaching for her hand. His hand felt warm in comparison to the vampire's icy cold skin. However, Hermione did not appreciate his attempt to woo her. It was the second time that night that somebody had tried to grab her and Hermione was thoroughly fed up of being mauled.

'No, thank you, Cormac...' she began.

'Ah, Cormac! You and Miss Granger hitting it off, I see? Excellent! Told you my parties were good fun, Miss Granger,' he said, winking at her.

'Horace, good chap, we're out of wine!' cried an elderly wizard with a pot belly and long, straggly grey hair. The wizard raised his empty glass into the air to emphasise his point.

'Out of wine, you say?' repeated Slughorn loudly. 'Can't have that, can't have that…I'll be back in a moment, Nicholas, I'll head down to the kitchens and ask the house-elves to bring more bottles!'

Hermione waited until Slughorn had waddled away out of ear shot before she shook her head once more at McLaggen.

Hermione began to circulate around the room, looking for Ginny or Luna. As she walked, she thought about Draco Malfoy. Today had been the first time in weeks that she had properly looked at Draco; he had lost a lot of weight to the point where his frame looked skeletal and dark, tired bags were appearing under his eyes. She began to wonder if there was any truth behind Harry's theory. But, according to Harry, even Professor Dumbledore had dismissed his suspicions after the Katie Bell incident.

Nevertheless, she considered the possibility that Professor Snape was keeping an eye on Draco and wondered if Professor Dumbledore was taking the matter more seriously than he was letting on.

After doing three laps of the room, Professor Slughorn returned bearing several bottles of elf-made wine to the crowd's great delight.

'Excellent, Horace!'

'Elf-made wine! Brilliant!'

'Plenty to go around,' wheezed Professor Slughorn as he placed the bottles unceremoniously on an empty table. 'There we are! Oh…Miss Granger!' he cried, looking around for Hermione. 'Ah, Miss Granger, there you are, Professor Snape told me to ask you if you could pop in and see him before you turn in for the night.'

'Of course, sir, I'll go and see him right away,' said Hermione, who was glad of an excuse to leave.

'Ah, Miss Granger,' said Professor Snape as she opened the door to his classroom.

'Good evening, sir,' said Hermione as she strolled into the classroom. On the surface of her desk, he had laid out several phials of potions, varying in colour and consistency.

'Did you enjoy the remainder of the party?' he asked icily as he got up from behind his desk and walked towards her.

She shrugged nonchalantly as she picked up one of the phials and examined it closely. Hermione did not recognise any of the potions.

'It wasn't brilliant but –'

'Did McLaggen enjoy it?'

Her face screwed up in confusion.

'Sir?'

'Horace came by on his way to fetch more wine…not that he needed any more,' he murmured darkly under his breath. 'He told me that you two were…_hitting it off_, as he put it.'

'That's absurd,' she muttered as she replaced the phial on the desk. Hermione turned to look at him and saw that he was standing mere inches in front of her. 'Slughorn overheard him ask me to dance and –'

'Did you?'

'Did I what?'

'Dance. With him.'

'No,' she said defiantly. 'I don't…I don't like him…like that…in that way.'

He was standing so close to her that his breath warmed her face. She looked into his eyes to discover the meaning behind his interrogation.

'Is there anyone?'

'I – er – no, there's nobody,' she said resolutely, shaking her head.

_You._

'What about Potter?'

'Definitely not,' she said, suppressing a smile. 'He's just a friend.'

'Weasley?'

'Why the Spanish Inquisition?' she asked, staring at him. They had been working together for months now and although he occasionally revealed personal, private things about himself to her, he rarely asked about her own personal life.

'It's your insistence on this ridiculous idea that we become friends,' he said heatedly. 'I'm merely asking about your life...not that I have any great interest but, at least, I should pretend to,' he said with a smirk.

She returned his smirk.

'To answer your question, no. Ron's just a friend…well…he _was_ my friend,' said Hermione dejectedly. To her dismay, she saw that the effects of her hair potion were beginning to dissipate and her hair was starting to lose its smoothness.

'I see.' he said gently. The anger and frostiness had passed and his voice had resumed its neutral tone. 'I assume that this is due to his…_romance_ with Miss Brown.'

Hermione nodded.

'She's rather…possessive and she doesn't like me hanging around. You know what girls are like…'

'Thankfully I don't,' he replied. 'Given that I have no sisters or daughters, for which I am grateful.'

'Do you have any children?'

He shook his head.

'What about a wife or a...girlfriend?'

Hermione's heartbeat slowed as she waited for his response, regretting the desperate tone that her voice had assumed.

He stared at her for several minutes before shaking his head. Several minutes of silence passed between them and Hermione turned her gaze towards the table; she did not want him to see the relief on her face.

'I'm glad that we're friends,' she said, smiling at him.

Words could not describe how much she valued his friendship. In ways, it seemed more significant than the relationships she shared with Harry and Ron.

His protection of her parents had endeared him to her so much more. It was not just a relationship between a conscientious, hard-working star pupil and a teacher; their relationship held an element of care as well as mutual respect. Hermione greatly appreciated the stories that he had told her about himself and his personal life. She was overcome with gratitude for the trust he had in her.

However, her mind flicked back to her betrayal of his trust, a couple of months earlier. The mere memory of which was enough to make her heart race with shame and guilt.

With a jolt, she realised that she had never properly apologised to him, but she knew that she had to. Whether he would care or not was irrelevant. She regarded him as her mentor, her protector as well as her friend and, in Hermione's eyes, friends did not betray each other and get away with it.

'Sir?'

Professor Snape looked at her inquiringly, waiting for her to continue.

'I'm sorry.'

He did not ask her what for. Nor did he make any sound. He kept his gaze rooted to her face.

'I –' she started hesitantly; she had no idea how to put her apology into words without creating an awkward atmosphere or angering him. It was painful for her to even recall the event, never mind say it aloud.

Her eyes were fixed on the table as she thought about how to say it.

Suddenly, she realised that she did not have to.

She lifted her head and as she did so she made instant eye-contact with him. She took a deep breath before she opened her mind to the thoughts and feelings that she felt when she thought of that day. Images flew through her mind of his angry face, Ron and Harry's outrage and the tear-stained pillow that she had slept on every night since her betrayal. She was right; words were inadequate. But he had to know _how_ sorry she was.

As she looked into his dark eyes she filled her mind with her memories and feelings associated with that day. He looked at her expressionlessly for several minutes, before turning away from her.

'Forgive me, sir, I'm so –'

'Take these potions to your dormitory, drink them tonight and tomorrow the bruises should have healed along with any pain,' he said crisply as he walked towards his desk. His voice sounded cold and distant and Hermione's heart sank. She felt her cheeks fill with heat and she hastily lowered her stare to the floor.

She felt mortified. Although she did not know what she expected his reaction to be, his reaction was not the one she had wanted or hoped for.

'You may go.'

She had to leave before he saw the confused expression on her face. Hermione nodded and hurried out the door, gathering the potions to her chest as she left.

The path to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take longer than usual as Hermione marched up the long staircases. When she finally burst through the door of her dormitory, her breaths were shaky and erratic and her face burned scarlet. Her fingers trembled as they placed the phials on the night-stand. Without drinking the potions he had prescribed, Hermione scrambled into her bed. She wrenched the covers over her body, without removing her make-up or her dress robes.

She did not rightly know _why_ she felt so gutted. She had betrayed him and it was not for her to decide whether or not she deserved his forgiveness. But it was an obstacle in their developing friendship. She realised their friendship would always be lacking because of her carelessness.

Her face was red and raw, caused by the friction between the pillow case against her cheek as she tossed and turned. Hermione groaned in annoyance and wished for the safe release of sleep. She did not hear the rustle of duvets or the soft footsteps moving towards her.

'Hermione?' asked a tentative voice. 'Are you OK?'

Parvati Patil padded softly over to Hermione's bed.

'Are you crying?' she asked gently.

'Of course not,' said Hermione, failing to keep the tremor out of her voice. Her eyes were dry, but her tone did not conceal her misery.

'Oh, Hermione,' said Parvati, sitting down on her bed. 'What happened? Did something happen at the party?' She hesitated for a moment. 'Is it because of Lavender and Ron Weasley?' she whispered, nodding to the bed, where Lavender lay fast asleep.

Hermione snorted at the lunacy of the idea; Ron and Lavender were far from the forefront of her mind.

'I know, it's hard,' continued Parvati. 'I mean, you two were so close! That's why Lavender is so jealous of you; she thinks you and Ron kind of…had a thing going on.'

'That's ludicrous, we're just friends,' insisted Hermione, wishing that Parvati would go back to her own bed.

'So you never liked him…in that way, before?'

'Never,' said Hermione confidently. 'Is that why Lavender has been so horrible to me lately?'

'I don't think she means it,' said Parvati, patting Hermione's shoulder. 'I think she's just worried that something will happen between you two…She said she wished that you would stay away from him.'

Hermione felt a surge of anger; she was infuriated by the fact that she was being guilt-tripped into spending less time with one of her friends, who she had no romantic interest in.

'So that's why you have been sitting with me during classes and in the Great Hall?' snapped Hermione unkindly. 'To spy on me and to make sure that I stay away from Ron?'

'Of course, not,' said Parvati in a shocked voice. 'You sounded upset and I just wanted to make sure that you were OK. I think it is completely unfair of her to expect you to stop hanging out with him. But, maybe, you could explain the situation to her? Maybe you two could even become friends?'

Friendship looked like the last thing Lavender had on her mind as Hermione sat down next to Harry at breakfast the following morning. It was the last breakfast of the term as the Hogwarts Express would be departing from Hogsmeade station the following morning. The blonde haired Gryffindor gave Hermione a frosty glare as she sat down, before throwing her arms around Ron's neck and kissing his cheek.

Hermione tried not to look at them but the slurping noises made it difficult to focus on anything else. She turned to talk to Harry, but he was engrossed in the Marauder's Map, which he had perched on his knees, under the table, away from the eyes of the staff.

It was an awkward breakfast, during which, Hermione had avoided eye contact with both Lavender and Ron and the High Table. Hermione decided to head back to her dormitory once she had finished her breakfast.

'You're going back to _bed_? But, we have classes!' cried Ron incredulously, after removing his lips from Lavender's grip.

'I –' she began, but Ron's momentary distraction was rewarded with a dark glower from Lavender and he hastily returned his attention to their game of tonsil tennis. Hermione rolled her eyes and made her way along the benches out of the Great Hall.

The dark bags under her eyes attested to her lack of sleep and she had no great desire to sit through her lessons, least of all Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione thought of the secret potion that she had brewed for him in Slughorn's laboratory. At that moment, she considered tossing it in the bin.

She had forgotten to take her healing potions the previous night and so she had chosen to drink them that morning after she had awoken. However, they seemed to be having a rather drowsy effect on her and Hermione could hardly keep her eyelids open as she trudged back to her dormitory.

Hermione did not feel too guilty: she would have a whole fortnight to catch up on her studies as she would be staying at Hogwarts for the entirety of the Christmas holidays.

* * *

><p>She slept soundly and did not wake until it was dark outside. In the poor lighting, she could make out the silhouettes of Lavender and Parvati, who were snoring gently in their four-poster beds.<p>

Hermione was surprised at how long she had slept and, in the clarity that came from a good, long rest, she began to feel a twinge of guilt for having skipped her classes that day. She groggily rubbed her face as she wondered exactly what the time was.

Groping about in the darkness, she reached for her wand that lay on the night-stand.

'Lumos.'

She used the wand's light to look at her watch, which told her that it was eleven o'clock at night. She had slept through the entire day. Extinguishing the light coming from her wand, she replaced it on her bedside table and rolled over in her bed. Hermione tried not to think about the events of the day before.

Suddenly, she heard a gentle tapping at the window. A brown barn owl was pecking its beak against the window pane. Hermione got out of bed and opened the window to let the Hogwarts barn owl enter. It glided through the room and landed on her duvet, before sticking its leg out importantly. Hermione was bewildered as she took the letter from the owl's leg and opened it. She instantly recognised his handwriting.

_'I forgive you.'_

It took Hermione a moment to process the information on the parchment.

Once she had read the letter, the owl hooted softly and took off into the night sky. Hermione closed the window, still clutching the letter to her chest, and snuggled under the covers of her bed. She beamed into the darkness as the weight of guilt lifted from her chest.

She felt a strange thrill at the act of him sending her a letter so late at night. It was not, strictly speaking, a _normal_ exchange between a teacher and pupil. In fact, most people would consider it completely inappropriate.

Hermione was experiencing more thrills, travelling through her body, as she considered the forbidden quality of the letter that she held to her chest.

Holding her breath, Hermione perked her ears to check that Lavender and Parvati were truly asleep. The soft sounds of snoring assured her that they were both sound asleep. Hermione placed the letter on the night-stand next to her bed and rolled onto her back.

Tentatively, she slipped a hand between her stomach and the waistband of her pyjamas. Her fingers slid through her curls until she felt the soft, plush skin of her nether lips. She stroked herself gently, sweeping her middle finger between her folds. A spark of pleasure shot through her body as she gently rubbed the hot, fleshy skin surrounding her opening.

Her fingers became warm and wet from the growing wetness inside her and she slowly traced a path from her opening to her clitoris with the pads of her fingers. The apex of her lips felt hard beneath her touch and, with gentle, circular motions, she began to massage her clitoris, creating a heightening pressure in her lower abdomen. Her legs straightened and flexed as her increasing excitement caused her to lose control of her body.

Hermione's strokes gradually became more frantic as red hot excitement built up inside her. She alternated between circling her clit with her fingers and inserting a finger inside of her, reaching for the slightly rough-textured skin that evoked a strong jolt of pleasure every time she touched it.

To her body's protests, she reluctantly removed her hand from under her pyjamas and raised her crinkled fingers to her lips. She did not care for the taste but she wet her fingertips so that they were dripping with her mouth's moisture. Her hand resumed its position beneath her pyjamas and she groaned softly in delight as she gently teased her clitoris with warm, dripping fingers. As she did so, she imagined his burning, wet mouth covering the hard point that her clitoris had become, tracing patterns with his tongue languorously.

The pressure inside her mounted as the pace of her movements quickened. She arched her back and gasped aloud as the waves of her orgasm vibrated through her body, filling her with an immense sensation of pleasure.

For the first time in months, Hermione fell into a blissful, serene sleep.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

He raised the phial to the window and examined it closely in the light of the winter sun that streamed through the window. Hermione held her breathe whilst she anxiously watched the change in his facial features. His eyes were narrowed slightly underneath his black, furrowed eyebrows as he examined the phial of the potion that she had brewed. Nervous anticipation bubbled in her stomach as her gaze followed his expression.

All the effort and hard work that she had put into those long hours in Slughorn's classroom were all for the man standing before her. She did not know why she had chosen this particular gift to give to Professor Snape. Harry's reward from Slughorn had given her the idea and she knew that the potion would be extremely useful to him, especially during his Death Eater gatherings. But she hoped that he would appreciate the effort and thought that she had put in to this Christmas present.

'Felix Felicis…' he murmured gently as he rotated the phial between his fingers, examining it from various angles. Exhaling slightly, Hermione took solace in the fact that he easily identified the potion as Liquid Luck.

She nodded in reply to his question and opened her mouth to explain.

'I – er – it's not quite finished yet. Well, I mean, the _brewing_ process is complete. However, the potion has to be stewed for six months before it is ready to be consumed,' she burbled, avoiding looking at his face. Hermione traced patterns on the stone floor with her foot as she continued. 'But, I thought that...you could probably do with some luck, sir.'

Suddenly, a smile broke out on his face and he shifted his gaze from the gold coloured potion to Hermione's face. The burning sensation at the back of her neck made her look up and meet his stare.

'You're right, there, Miss Granger...Hermione,' he said softly. 'Liquid Luck is a difficult potion to brew…'

'Is it OK?' she asked, staring at him earnestly through her wide, brown eyes.

'It's perfect,' he replied, glancing at the phial in his hand. 'I – Thank you.'

'I'm glad, sir,' she said as her eyes followed him to the store cupboard, where he extracted a cauldron and other, miscellaneous pieces of potion-brewing equipment. Hermione watched him with a soft smile on her face as he began to assemble the apparatus that would allow the phial of Felix Felicis to stew.

For several minutes, he worked peacefully and meticulously and Hermione felt serene contentment spread through her body as she observed him breathlessly. She wanted nothing more than to join him in his work and to be part of the calm, tranquil world which he found in the task of potion-brewing.

'Would you like me to stay and work on my dissertation?' she asked.

Professor Snape turned slowly to face her with an unreadable expression on his face. His black eyes were fixed on the floor and he seemed to be mulling over a thought in his head.

'I think we shall leave your dissertation until after the holidays...I imagine you have a lot of classwork to catch up on, am I right?'

Grimacing at the thought of the mountain of work that awaited her, Hermione nodded reluctantly. She could not ignore the disappointment rising within her at his words; the prospect of spending a fortnight working alongside him had been the only silver lining to remaining at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. Hermione's heart felt heavy with disappointment as she looked at him.

'We shall resume our work on your dissertation and the batch of Amortentia after the holidays. For now, I am afraid I have some…business that I must attend to,' he said curtly. Although the tone of his voice seemed brisk and abrupt, there was a mysterious glint in his eye and Hermione could not help but feel that his 'business' would not involve marking essays or corridor patrol. Hermione nodded at the dismissal and made her way towards the door of his classroom.

'Hermione?'

Turning her head at the sound of his voice, she peered curiously over her shoulder and saw that he was staring directly at her. She was reminded instantly of the day of the Quidditch match, when he had been looking at her with such intensity. Hermione felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her as she had felt on that day.

'Yes, sir?' she asked breathlessly.

'Merry Christmas,' he murmured softly as his eyes flickered over her face. 'And thank you for the gift.'

'You're welcome,' she said with a small smile. 'Merry Christmas.'

* * *

><p>As Hermione made her way along the castle's empty corridors, she pondered over his parting words to her. Why had he chosen that moment to wish her a Merry Christmas? Surely, she would see him on Christmas Day and, possibly, before then?<p>

Her thoughts turned to the 'business' that he had spoken of and Hermione began to feel nauseous. The only kind of 'business' that would detain him for the entire holiday would surely be linked to the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Hermione walked to the Gryffindor common room on autopilot as her mind became consumed with Professor Snape's 'business' and what it would entail. She wondered if she ought to have brewed several batches of Felix Felicis.

The common room was deserted and the only sound came from the warm fire that crackled beside her. After sitting in an armchair, she closed her eyes, trying to steer her thoughts in a different direction. Despite the heat from the flames, Hermione felt cold as she realised that Christmas would be a very lonely affair for her. Fortunately, she had woken up long after the departure of the Hogwarts Express that morning and so she did not have to witness her classmates' departure, for which Hermione was glad. On the other hand, she had missed her chance to say goodbye to Harry and Ron and to wish either of them a Merry Christmas.

She contemplated fetching her school bag from her dormitory and catching up on her lessons and school work. Mentally leafing through her subjects, Hermione evaluated the amount of work that she would have to do in order to catch up in each class. The thought of her N.E.W.T.s was sufficiently overwhelming to make her want to stick her head in the fire.

Her gaze turned to the flames, as if seriously considering the idea, but, slowly, thoughts of the Death Eaters and Voldemort began to creep into the forefront of her mind. It had been weeks since any Death Eater activities had been reported, either through the Daily Prophet or the Order. Nevertheless this was not at all a comforting notion; the Death Eaters' dormancy was beginning to stir unease and disquiet throughout the wizarding world.

Gripping the arms of the armchair, Hermione steered the thoughts racing through her brain to the back of her mind. She thought back to her studies.

'I think I'll do my Charms homework first,' she muttered aloud. 'Then...Potions.'

Hermione took some pleasure in the fact that she would be able to catch up on her Potions work without feeling completely undermined by the Prince and his prodigious results. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind, siphoning all thoughts of the Death Eaters, the prophecy, the Half-Blood Prince, her first Christmas without her parents as well as the stress of her N.E.W.T.s from her thoughts. The heat from the fire warmed her legs as she wriggled further into the armchair, trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts that surfaced in her mind.

Hermione awoke with a jump and winced at the sharp pain in her neck as she jerked her head forward. Blinking rapidly, Hermione squinted at the watch on her wrist to check the time and saw that it was five o'clock in the evening. In spite of the hour, Hermione was not hungry and she was unsure of venturing into the Great Hall, where she would be completely alone. But the ominous cloud that circled in her mind threatened to overcome her. She knew that if she sat idle for any longer, she would be consumed by the depressing, black shadow of her mood. Massaging the painful cramp in her neck, Hermione decided that dinner in the Great Hall would provide a welcome distraction from the chaotic workings of her imagination.

She sat alone at the empty Gryffindor table.

Scanning the four House tables, Hermione noted that all but the Ravenclaw table was empty. In the middle of the Ravenclaw table sat a small first-year boy, who was playing with the stew on his plate, looking bored and dejected. His face was pale and peppered with freckles and his messy hair was the colour of sand. Hermione turned her gaze to the High Table, which was also vacant apart from Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick, who were deep in conversation and seemed oblivious to Hermione and the first-year Ravenclaw sitting at their House tables. To her surprise, Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. The half-giant lived in a hut on the castle's grounds, which meant that he stayed at Hogwarts during the holiday period. Feeling slightly more cheerful with this thought in mind, Hermione decided that she would pay him a visit the following morning, even if it meant dropping by Hagrid's brother, Grawp.

Hermione raised her head and met the nervous, wide-eyed, green stare of the boy sitting at the opposite table. Her lips stretched upwards into a kind smile, which caused the boy to blush scarlet and spill several droplets of gravy down his jumper. He hastily looked away from her and focused his attention on a suit of armour fixed to the wall in front of him, ignoring the gravy dripping down his jumper. Hermione sighed heavily and stared morosely at her plate, wondering how she would be able to handle a fortnight of loneliness with nothing to distract her but her own thoughts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the first-year Ravenclaw fumble with a napkin and attempt to wipe away the gravy stains. Hermione did not realise how many of the students would be returning home for the holidays; usually one third of the students remained at Hogwarts over Christmas. She had an inkling that the ominous shadow of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters was responsible for the strengthening of family ties and the students' desire to spend as much time at home as possible. Hermione wondered how many would return after the Christmas holidays.

She did not know if she was capable of spending two weeks alone without the company of her friends or Professor Snape. Although she had not seen much of Ron or Harry over the past month, Ginny had always been there to talk to and confide in and even Parvati had become her friend of late. Hermione regretted the accusations and suspicions that she had flung at Parvati after Slughorn's party and, with a pang, Hermione realised that she was greatly missing the company of her newfound friend.

Hermione prayed for a familiar face to appear as she strode along the empty corridors and staircases. But, to her crushing disappointment, she finally gave up and accepted the fact that she was well and truly alone. Despite her restless start to the school year, Hermione realised that she would certainly find no difficulty in catching up on all the sleep she needed and more.

She trudged through the empty common room, bypassing the armchairs, and headed straight towards the girls' dormitories.

Once inside, she plucked a textbook at random from her school bag and, with a heavy sigh, she sank onto her mattress and began to read. The Transfiguration book provided an adequate distraction and Hermione managed to successfully transform Lavender's bed into an old, grandfather clock. The one advantage of remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas was that she could practise practical magic. Throughout previous years, Hermione had hated the fact that she was not permitted to perform magic at home during the holidays. She had desperately wanted to see the amazement on her parents' faces and to thoroughly prepare herself for the year ahead. Understanding the theoretical side of magic was the closest she could get to readying herself for returning to Hogwarts.

But, now that she was seventeen, there would be nothing to stop her from performing magic out with the school. Hermione regretted more than ever that she would not be spending Christmas with her parents. With a heavy sigh, she changed into her pyjamas and tried to block out all thoughts of the Hogwarts Express and the students who boarded the train that morning. Hermione tried not to imagine the happy, festive atmosphere and the excitement that they would have all been feeling to return home and see their families.

Burrowing under the covers, Hermione settled into her bed and let her head sink onto the pillow. She imagined building a mental shield in her head, blocking out all the negative thoughts going through her mind. With a deep breathe, she pictured that she was on the train home to London, sitting in the same carriage as Harry and Ron, playing Exploding Snap. They would be complaining about the amount of stress and responsibility that their N.E.W.T.s had brought upon them as well as discussing the relief they felt to be going home to their families.

_Her house was empty. It looked cold and unwelcoming without the warm lights streaming through the window and the loud, booming sound of her father's laughter. Suddenly, the dark windows were illuminated by a burst of green light and the echoing eruption of screams. The green light filtered through the windows and seemed to drift upwards into the sky like green smoke. The glow of the Dark Mark filled the winter night sky._

'No!' cried Hermione, sitting bolt upright in her bed. She exhaled heavily and rubbed her face with her hands, removing the grit from her eyes. She brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around herself.

'Get a grip, Hermione,' she muttered to herself as she wrapped the duvet around her once more. Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione thought back to her childhood and her mother's warm, comforting embraces. Her mother's arms had always felt soft and warm when they had wrapped around her back. Despite the scent of the dental surgery that clung to her mother's clothes, Hermione had loved to burrow her head into her shoulder, relishing the feeling of security and safety that surrounded her and held her tight.

Slowly, her eyelids began to close and she drifted off into a deep slumber.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and a tall, dark silhouette entered the dormitory. Minerva McGonagall stood at the foot of Hermione's bed as Hermione blearily opened her eyes and registered the familiar outline of her Head of House. Professor McGonagall was wearing her night robes and her long hair was flowing freely down her back.

'Miss Granger, are you awake?'

'Yes, Professor. What's the matter?' An abrupt sensation of alarm shot through her; Hermione knew that something terrible had happened. Nothing else could explain why Professor McGonagall was calling on her in the middle of the night.

'The Headmaster wishes to see you –'

'Now?' asked Hermione as she felt the blood flowing through her veins turn cold with terror.

'Please get dressed and pack your trunk with nothing more than clothes and basic necessities. Muggle clothes, if you please. Professor Dumbledore is waiting in the common room for you.'

Professor McGonagall turned away from Hermione and exited the dormitory.

Hermione's heart was beating painfully against her ribcage as she hastily packed her trunk. She was certain that something terrible had happened to her parents. There was no other explanation for why she was being dragged out of bed in the early hours of the morning with her trunk. Perhaps, Hermione considered, she had to go into hiding…Had the Death Eaters found a way into Hogwarts?

'Good evening, Miss Granger,' said the Headmaster politely from the armchair as she appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories. Slowly, he got to his feet and Hermione noted how aged he appeared. His face was heavily lined and his blue eyes looked heavy and tired.

To her astonishment, Hermione saw that his lips were stretched into a small smile and, slowly, she began to exhale a breathe that she did not even know that she had been holding.

'Nothing to worry about, Miss Granger,' he said as if reading her thoughts. Professor Dumbledore fastened his magenta travelling cloak under his chin and straightened his hat. 'Nothing bad has happened…I apologise if Professor McGonagall alarmed you…However, I felt that it would be safer to move you in the middle of the night as opposed to broad daylight when we would have been far more conspicuous.'

The elderly wizard reached into the sleeve of his robes and withdrew his wand, before striding towards the portrait hole.

'Lumos,' he murmured, lighting the tip of his wand.

'Moved, sir?' asked Hermione in bewilderment, who was rooted to the spot.

'Yes, we have made arrangements so that you can spend the festive season with your parents,' explained the Headmaster kindly.

'I – I – You're joking,' she stuttered as she looked at him through widened eyes.

'On the contrary,' he said lightly. 'Follow me.'

Hermione picked up her trunk and exited the Gryffindor common room, following the Headmaster's long strides. Silently, he led her out of the common room and along the castle's dark corridors and staircases until they were standing in the Entrance Hall.

'Now, we Apparate,' he said gently, turning towards her and proffering his arm. 'Take hold of my arm, if you please, Miss Granger.'

Hermione held onto him as she had done with Professor Snape, squeezing her eyes shut as she prepared herself for the uncomfortable sensation of Apparating…

* * *

><p>'Where are we, sir?' she asked breathlessly, massaging her chest. She felt nauseous and anxious as she resisted the urge to vomit. Looking around her, she saw that they were standing in the clearing of a forest, framed by a thick enclosure of fir trees.<p>

'I would rather not utter the name of this location aloud,' he explained, as he stepped towards the shadowy, enclosure of trees. 'All I shall tell you is that you…and your parents are safe.'

The trees were planted very close together and, from what Hermione could see, there was no distinct path, which meant that they had to do a certain amount of ducking and edging around sharp, protruding branches. But, as Hermione followed Professor Dumbledore, she felt the anxiety begin to drain out of her, despite the fact that they were heading deeper into the forest through the dark, thickets of trees. Her magical powers allowed her to sense the traces of enchantment in the air and she could tell that the area was well guarded by powerful, protective enchantments.

Amid the darkness, Hermione's eyes suddenly distinguished a small, warm light shining ahead of them through the tree branches. Her heartbeat began to speed up and she quickened her pace, tripping over tree roots and stinging nettles as she rushed forward. As they moved forward, the trees seemed more spread out, allowing them to walk without snagging their clothing on branches.

It seemed that the further they moved into the forest, the more the darkness seemed to lift and lighten. Before long, Hermione's eyes could make out a small cabin, encircled by thick trees. A warm, orange glow emitted from the windows and Hermione gasped, ignoring the scratches on her face inflicted by the prickly branches. She stopped suddenly, dropping her trunk at her feet, and turned her face towards the Headmaster.

'Sir…Professor Dumbledore…I want to – to – thank you. Thank you so much…I – I can't even begin to express how grateful…' she uttered. 'You do not know how much this means to me.'

'Do not thank me, Miss Granger. It was Professor Snape who beseeched me to arrange for you to return to your parents over the holidays,' replied the Headmaster with a smile.

Hermione's eyed widened: the mystery behind his 'business', which he had to see to, became remarkably clear to her and she understood why he had chosen to wish her a 'Merry Christmas' that afternoon.

'I – I can't believe it,' she whispered.

The Headmaster smiled at her kindly before placing a hand on her shoulder.

'Christmas never fails to bring out the best in people,' he said softly.

At that moment, the door of the cabin opened and Hermione's heart jumped to her throat. After what seemed like an eternity, her eyes fell upon the familiar figure of her mother, bathed in the warm light radiating from the inside of the cabin.

Her pale face looked thinner and more lined than it had done the last time she had laid eyes upon her. Her brown eyes, identical to those of her daughter, looked massive in her thin, bony face and, to Hermione, they seemed full of misery and sadness. But the moment she identified the approaching figure as that of her daughter, they widened and vivified with joyful disbelief.

Hermione hurried forward, stumbling over the uneven terrain, until she was wrapped in her mother's embrace.

It felt as if hours had passed before they finally broke apart. Hermione's mother raised her trembling fingers and held her daughter's chin in her hands, scanning her face hungrily as if she had never seen her before.

Hermione had forgotten all about Professor Dumbledore and she turned round hastily to thank the Headmaster one last time. But, to her surprise, he had already Disapparated with a silent _pop_.

She felt her mother's warm hand caress her cheek and Hermione turned her head to see her mother gazing at her in tearful delight. Her other hand reached for Hermione's fingers and she squeezed them gently. Without any exchange of words, they entered the cabin hand-in-hand.

* * *

><p>Professor Dumbledore was not surprised to see the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher sitting in his office upon his return. The Headmaster removed his magenta, travelling cloak and draped it over the back of a vacant wooden chair.<p>

'Ah, Severus,' he said in feigned surprise. 'To what do I owe the late pleasure?'

Professor Snape was sitting hunched over in an uncomfortable chair, contemplating his intertwined fingers. He looked up at the Headmaster wearing his customary scowl.

'You know why I am here…' he said meaningfully. 'What happened? How is she?'

'Surprised to say the least…' replied the Headmaster, moving swiftly across the room to the comfortable chintz armchair situated behind his desk. 'I did not stay for long after our arrival…But, from what I saw, it was a happy reunion.'

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher nodded but remained silent.

'It was very thoughtful, Severus,' said Professor Dumbledore, eyeing him calmly over his half-moon spectacles.

'On the contrary, Albus, I did nothing. It was you who took her there and –'

'But, it was _you_ who beseeched me to arrange it. Miss Granger is in your debt…You have saved her parents and provided them with the best possible protection. Not only that, you have arranged temporary housing, allowing the girl to spend the holidays with her family.'

Professor Snape did not say anything for a while and merely stared at his hands.

'May I ask what brought on this charitable act?' asked the Headmaster interestedly.

'I – In truth, Headmaster, I am not sure,' muttered Professor Snape. 'She seems to have been dealt a pretty rough hand this year…It was the least I could do.'

The Headmaster nodded slowly and tried to conceal a small smile from the surly teacher before him.

'Once the holidays are over, I shall remove the wards and retrieve Miss Granger from the cabin…and then I shall convey the Grangers to another location,' said Professor Snape. 'The wards that I have put in place will hold and the protective enchantments are powerful enough to prevent intruders but I think, to keep on the safe side, it would be best to change their hiding place every few months or so.'

'I quite agree. We can't take any chances…' he replied gravely.

'If that is all, then…' Professor Snape stood up to leave, smoothing his black robes with his hands, and stalked towards the door.

'One more thing, Severus,' said the Headmaster, raising the index finger of his good hand. 'Has Tom said anything of his plans concerning Harry Potter and his friends?'

Professor Snape turned as he reached the door to face Professor Dumbledore and shook his head. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.

'He – he has not informed me of his plans regarding the boy. He…he –' Professor Snape stuttered, wiping a bead of sweat away from his upper lip. He faltered as he looked at Professor Dumbledore, who was examining his blackened fingers.

'Go on, Severus,' he said lightly.

'He only ever refers to…_that_ plan,' said Professor Snape quietly, who shifted from one foot to the other.

'Ah, I remember,' replied the Headmaster casually, pushing his half-moon spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. 'His plan to appoint you as Headmaster next year.'

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher stared bitterly at the ground, ignoring the Headmaster who was examining him closely.

'Come now, Severus, do not look so glum. Death is inevitable and we both know that my time is nearly up.' He looked at him with a hardened twinkle in his eye as he raised his blackened fingers in support of his argument. 'As far as Lord Voldemort's plans go, this is certainly one of his better ones…I can honestly say that I cannot think of a finer person to run Hogwarts than you, but I would not repeat that in front of Minerva,' he said with a slight chuckle. 'And do not forget that I am relying on you to protect the students _and_ the staff from the mercy of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters. You alone can save – '

'Enough!' spat Professor Snape, banging his fist against the door frame. 'You forget that one, minor, insignificant part of the plan that involves me killing you!'

'Would you prefer young Draco to perform the deed?' asked the Headmaster, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Professor Snape snarled and curled his hand into a tight ball.

'Precisely,' replied the Headmaster calmly. 'You will not kill me…Much the contrary, in fact, you will be putting an end to an old man's suffering and saving the soul of an innocent young man…Speaking of which, how is Draco?'

'He refuses to see me or accept my help…' growled Professor Snape, pacing back and forth. 'He accused me of wanting to steal his glory…He's up to _something_ but he will not reveal his secret.'

Professor Dumbledore nodded.

'Alas, he is only young –'

'Sixteen is not so young...' muttered Professor Snape.

'– and the shock of his father's imprisonment as well as his fear of Lord Voldemort have undoubtedly affected him,' continued Professor Dumbledore.

'Must you _always_ use the name?' snarled Professor Snape through gritted teeth.

The two wizards looked at each other for several seconds. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's black stare met that of the aged Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore was the first to break their eye-contact as he began to rummage through the drawers in his desk.

'That will be all, Severus. I shall see you at the Christmas Feast,' said the Headmaster finally.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_'Dear Miss Granger_

_Assuming you are capable of performing a Disillusionment charm, I would like you to perform one on yourself in exactly one hour's time._

_Gather your belongings and walk to the Disapparition point, where someone will meet you and take you back to the school via Side-Along-Apparition._

_You have one hour to pack and say your goodbyes._

_Professor Snape_'

There was a heavy weight in her chest that pained her as she thought of leaving her parents. She knew that she ought to feel fortunate to have even spent a moment in their company, given the circumstances that surrounded them. But it would hurt her to be parted from them again. The only silver lining was the hope that Professor Snape would be the one to meet her at the Disapparition point. The past fortnight had seemed like something out of a dream to Hermione and she owed it all to Professor Snape.

It had been the first time in months that Hermione had felt truly at peace and full of hope. Now, however, she felt dejected and gloomy at the thought of returning to Hogwarts, where she would have to endure the stress of reality and everyday life, but the most painful thought of all was not knowing when she would see her parents again.

'Where did that owl come from?' cried her father disbelievingly as he watched the tawny, feathery creature take flight through the window.

'It's a note from Professor Snape. I have to go back…in an hour,' she murmured, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

'So soon?' he asked, pulling her to him and wrapping his green jumper-clad arms around her. 'We'll miss you, pet.'

Her mother joined their embrace and kissed the top of Hermione's head.

'I – I'd better go get my things,' said Hermione eventually.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from their hug and ran to the room, which had been her bedroom for the past fortnight. Hermione tried to think of all the advantages of returning to Hogwarts as she crammed her clothes into her trunk, but the thought of leaving her parents made it impossible for her to see the perks awaiting her inside the castle.

She had half an hour to spare by the time she had finished packing and so she trudged into the living room, where her parents were sitting on the couch.

For fifteen minutes, they sat side-by-side holding each other and whispering words of comfort.

'It's quarter to one…I have to leave,' murmured Hermione, looking at her watch. They got to their feet and walked towards the door, where Hermione's trunk stood.

'I love you,' whispered her mother as she pulled her close for one last hug. 'We'll see you soon…'

'Hopefully,' mumbled Hermione mournfully as she rubbed her face against her mother's shoulder.

'Don't say that, Hermione,' muttered her father as he stepped forward to embrace his daughter. 'We _will_ see you soon…and don't worry about us. We'll be fine.'

Hermione nodded frantically into his chest as she hugged him tightly.

'Take care,' she said, stooping to reach her trunk. 'I love you, both.'

'You as well, sweetheart,' replied her mother, kissing her forehead.

'Goodbye,' she whispered.

Hermione withdrew her wand from the pocket of her jeans and performed the Disillusionment charm on herself and, slowly, her body began to disappear. With a deep breathe, she stepped outside the cabin and began to make her way through the trees of the forest.

After five minutes of walking and stumbling over tree roots, Hermione could discern the clearing of the forest, where she and Dumbledore had arrived two weeks ago. As she reached the edge of the forest Hermione looked around frantically; the patch of flatland before her was deserted. She spun her watch on her wrist to check the time but, before her eyes could read the arrows on the dial, she heard a voice.

'You're late.'

Several yards to her left, she saw Professor Snape emerging from the thicket of trees. It had been two weeks since she had seen him and she had so much to say to him and thank him for. But the only question that came to her mind was:

'How can you see me?'

She took a step towards him away from the edge of the trees.

'I did as you asked! I performed the Disillusionment charm and –'

'Indeed, you did…' he said, cutting through her. 'But the sound of your feet stumbling over tree roots, and your muttered expletives, were not disguised by the charm,' he said smoothly as he pointed his wand at her. Hermione opened her mouth to question him but slowly she saw her body begin to appear. 'You have no further need of the charm now that I am here.'

He began to walk towards her until he was standing directly in front of her.

'Are you ready to go?'

Hermione ignored him and stepped forward so that their bodies were parted by mere centimetres. Her eyes scanned his face hungrily before she did the unthinkable. She raised her arms and wrapped them around his back, leaning forward towards him to rest her head on his chest.

He struggled feebly against her for a few moments before letting his arms fall limp at his sides. His body was stiff and upright but he did not shake her off.

'Thank you,' she whispered into his chest. 'Thank you so much.'

Slowly and tentatively, Professor Snape raised his right hand and patted her back with the lightest of touches.

'You have no idea how much...'

'You're welcome, Hermione.'

Hermione raised her face from his chest and looked into his eyes, which were boring into her. His look was intense and penetrating and Hermione felt something stir within her. Her eyes gazed into his face and her urge to cry transformed into a completely different urge.

The heat from his body filled her face with a warmth that began to spread through her to her most sensitive parts. Their lips were separated by inches and their bodies were fully pressed against each other. The temptation and passion surging through Hermione was so powerful, causing her to struggle desperately against the desire to reach his lips with her own.

Abruptly he pulled away from her and reached for her trunk.

'Ready?' he asked.

Hermione gave a quick nod and took hold of his arm. She avoided his gaze as she clung onto him but out of the corner of her eye, she could see that his pale face was tinged with pink and Hermione wondered if he had picked up on her sudden burst of lustful desire.

'I have some lesson planning that I must attend to before the start of term tomorrow…However, we can work on your dissertation tomorrow night, if you are available,' said Professor Snape after they had landed on the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts.

'That's fine,' mumbled Hermione, addressing her shoes. She felt thoroughly mortified and ashamed by how powerful her desire for him was, especially given the fact that it almost robbed her of her control over her actions. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to escape from his company. To her relief, he turned his back on her and strolled towards the entrance to the castle.

'Hello, Hermione!' cried a loud, booming voice, which she recognised instantly as that of the gamekeeper.

'Hi, Hagrid,' she said, smiling brightly at him.

'Where've yeh bin? I thought yeh were stayin' at Hogwarts fer Christmas…' asked Hagrid curiously.

'Oh,' said Hermione awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. Professor Snape had not specifically told her that she could not tell anyone where she had spent the Christmas holidays. But, even though she trusted Hagrid greatly, she decided it would be best to not broadcast where she had stayed over the winter break. 'I – er – changed my mind…How was your Christmas? What did you get up to?'

'Ah, nothin' much, nothin' much,' he said, waving his giant hand airily. 'Bin spendin' time with Grawp…lookin' after Buck – I mean – er – Witherwings an' – an' Aragog,' he whispered as his voice filled with emotion. Tears began to shine in Hagrid's eyes as he mentioned the giant spider.

'Oh, Hagrid,' murmured Hermione sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze his hand. 'Is he not getting any better?'

'I don' think so, Hermione,' choked Hagrid. 'It's jus' – jus' – so hard…We've bin tergether so long…'

'Is there anything I can do?' asked Hermione gently. She hated seeing one of her friends so upset despite the fact that she could not understand his affection towards dangerous beasts.

Hagrid shook his head miserably.

'Nah…But thanks fer offerin', Hermione…it means a lot…' he said, attempting a smile. 'Oh, I almos' forgot! I bumped inter Harry and Ron this mornin'…they're gonna come roun' fer tea, d'ye fancy comin'?'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

'That would be great, Hagrid, I just need to go upstairs to take my trunk back to my dormitory,' said Hermione.

'Great! I'll wait fer yeh here.'

After several minutes Hermione returned and, together, they set off towards Hagrid's hut. Harry and Ron were standing outside, stroking the giant Hippogriff, who had been rechristened 'Witherwings' in order to elude the Ministry and his death sentence.

'Hi, Hagrid. We were just saying 'hello' to Buckbeak…I – er – Witherwings,' said Ron. He turned his gaze from Hagrid to Hermione and a small blush covered his cheeks. 'You alright, Hermione? Had a good Christmas?'

Hermione contemplated giving Ron a snarky response, but as she looked at his beseeching expression, she sensed how guilty he felt for how he had ignored her in the run up to the Christmas holidays. Smiling kindly at him, she realised that there was no point in rebuffing his attempts to patch up their friendship.

'Yeah, it was quite good,' she said politely. 'And you?'

After that, it felt like old times; the three of them sitting in Hagrid's hut drinking tea and eating rock cakes. The weeks of frostiness between Ron and Hermione as a result of his relationship with Lavender were a distant memory. To her surprise, Ron seemed a lot more subdued when Hagrid asked about Lavender and Hermione could not stop herself from smiling.

Eventually, the conversation topic approached that of Draco Malfoy and his mysterious behaviour at Slughorn's Christmas party. Harry had overheard the conversation between Draco and Snape after Draco had been caught lurking in an upstairs corridor.

'Obviously, Harry, Professor Snape was just pretending to offer help so he could trick Draco into telling him what he was doing,' said Hermione in exasperation.

'Are yeh sure he sed he made the Unbreakable Vow?' asked Hagrid, scratching his chin, which was hidden by his enormous beard.

'I'm certain!' said Harry. '_And_ he definitely said "your master"! Who else could it be?'

'I don't know…maybe his father?' suggested Hermione, biting her lip.

Hermione could not deny the unease she felt as she listened to Harry's story; she did not care for Draco in the slightest, but she hated to think that he could go so far as to accept the Dark Mark. She trusted Professor Snape more than anybody, especially after all that he had done for her, and she was certain that the only motive behind his behaviour was to uncover more about Draco's plan. But she could not figure out the reason behind the Unbreakable Vow nor could she shake off the disquiet she felt as she pondered it in her mind.

Hermione, Hagrid and Ron all exchanged uneasy looks as they avoided Harry's defiant stare.

'Harry…' began Hagrid heavily. 'I've sed it before an' I'll say it again…Professor Snape is a Hogwarts teacher…Professor Dumbledore trusts 'im…and there's no pullin' the wool o'er his eyes.'

'Yeah well, I'll be telling Professor Dumbledore about this tomorrow…' muttered Harry darkly, sinking his teeth into one of Hagrid's rock cakes.

'Oh, have you got a meeting with him tomorrow?' asked Hermione excitedly.

Harry nodded in response as his cheeks bulged with the solid fruit cake.

'You working with Snape tomorrow?' asked Ron, reaching for the sugar bowl.

Hermione bobbed her head as she sipped her tea.

'Yeh work so hard, Hermione,' said Hagrid, smiling proudly at her. 'Yeh'll go far, I tell yeh.'

Hermione blushed and took another tentative bite of her rock cake, which nearly broke her back teeth.

'Did anything else happen over Christmas? How is your mum, Ron?' asked Hermione, turning to look at him.

'Yeah, she's OK…Percy showed up on Christmas Day and that really upset her…'

'Really?' asked Hermione incredulously. 'Did he apologise to your dad for those awful things he said?'

'Hardly,' guffawed Ron. 'He's still the world's biggest prat…He came by with the Minister for Magic…Rufus Scrimgeour…But it was obvious that Scrimgeour just wanted to speak to Harry.'

'Blimey,' muttered Hagrid. 'Wha' did he say, Harry?'

'He wanted to know where Dumbledore goes to when he's not at Hogwarts…And he wanted me to be a mascot for the Ministry so it looks like I'm helping them in their hunt for Voldemort – '

Ron and Hagrid jumped abruptly at his use of the name, causing their tea to spill over the flowery tablecloth.

'D'ye always have ter say the name?' cried Hagrid, wiping the spilled tea with a giant tea towel that looked more like a human bath towel.

'What did you tell him?' demanded Hermione, looking at Harry intently.

'I told him to shove it…'

'Quite right,' muttered Hagrid. 'Ruddy Ministry…An' after all the trouble we had las' year with tha' Umbridge woman…Not ter mention them not believin' yeh after the Tournament…'

Hermione nodded in agreement.

'They have some nerve asking you for your help now,' said Hermione, shaking her head furiously.

'Anyway, Hagrid, we'd better get back,' said Ron, yawning widely. 'We have the start-of-term feast and then I have homework that's due tomorrow, which I've still not done…'

Hagrid shook his head and tutted reprovingly before giving him a sly wink. A jolt of alarm surged through Hermione as she thought of her own pile of homework.

'Oh no!' she cried, clasping her hands over her mouth. 'I've still to do my homework as well!'

'Give over, Hermione,' said Harry, standing up and fastening his robes.

'I'm not joking,' said Hermione, who was frozen to her chair in horror. 'What am I going to do?'

'Calm down,' said Ron soothingly. 'You still have time to do it.'

The three of them trudged towards the castle, leaving deep tracks in the snow. Hermione headed towards the common room as Harry and Ron entered the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast. She felt a twinge of envy as she was ravenous and wanted nothing more than to be in the company of her friends, but the thought of not completing her homework made her feel restless and anxious.

She lost track of how many hours had passed as she frantically filled sheets and sheets of parchment.

The Gryffindors finally returned from the feast at eleven o'clock, chattering loudly as they filed in to the common room.

'Have you been up here all this time?' asked Harry in amazement as he lowered himself into the armchair next to her.

Her head bobbed in response as she continued writing furiously over the parchment.

'Are you nearly finished?' he asked, rubbing his stomach, which was swollen with the abundance of food he consumed at the start-of-term feast.

Massaging the pain in her lower back, Hermione straightened her spine and examined the sheets, which were splayed out around her.

'I – er – kind of…I've completed my homework for Ancient Runes and Potions…I'm just working on this essay for McGonagall…'

'Have you done the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay?'

Her head snapped upwards to look at him in horror.

'No, no, no, no, no, no,' she muttered frantically, running her hands through her hair. 'I totally forgot…Oh, _bugger_! He's going to kill me!'

Harry snorted loudly.

'You're his favourite student…I don't think he'll kill you…' said Harry.

'Pfft, I'm not his favourite student…' muttered Hermione, rummaging in her bag for her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.

'You are! Have you not seen the way he looks at you in class? No wonder Draco refuses to speak to him…You've replaced him as the teacher's pet,' said Harry, stretching in his armchair.

Hermione blushed scarlet and stopped her rummaging in order to consider his words. She had not noticed Professor Snape looking at her in class…Only the few times when their eyes had met. The thought made her lips perk upwards into a small smile.

'Anyway, I'm going to turn in for the night…Goodnight, Hermione,' said Harry, standing up slowly.

'Night, Harry,' she said distractedly. 'Where's Ron, by the way?'

'He's with Lavender…I saw them heading into an empty classroom…'

Hermione held up her hand.

'Say no more…I get the picture,' she said, suppressing a shiver of disgust.

Harry chuckled and headed towards the boys' dormitories.

It was a mark of how much her feelings had progressed and developed that she did not feel anything at the thought of Ron and Lavender together. In truth, Hermione's resentment of Lavender had very little to do with the fact that she was Ron's girlfriend; it was Lavender's possessiveness and unkindness that fuelled Hermione dislike of her.

Another hour passed and the Gryffindors had vacated the common room and ascended to their dormitories. However, Hermione had only managed to write five lines of her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay. Her mind continued to mull over Harry's words.

_Have you not seen the way he looks at you in class?_

Smiling widely, Hermione allowed herself to muse over their moments together and the feelings and urges that sparked within her at the thought of him. Thinking back to that afternoon, she pushed the embarrassment that she felt to the side and concentrated on how close they had been standing together. She recalled the warmth of his chest and the feather-like brush of his fingertips against her back. She imagined his touch travelling along other regions of her body. She sighed heavily as she stared down at her unfinished essay and she knew that there was no hope of completing it in her current state of mind. Hermione planted her textbooks and numerous pieces of parchment on the armchair and headed to her dormitory.

She was slick with arousal and desire as she pushed two fingers inside of her, stroking the hot, wet flesh. Tightening her walls around her fingers, she imagined that it was his length she was clenching around. Hermione visualised his face and imagined his expression of sheer pleasure and desire as she pulled him into her and squeezed her moisture-slicked walls around him. Her fingers felt small inside of her and Hermione whimpered with lust and yearning for him to drive into her and rub against the sensitive spot deep inside her.

Placing her feet on the mattress, she raised her hips slightly, allowing her fingers to slide further inside of her and to reach the specific area of skin that made her gasp aloud. Every stroke evoked a rush of satisfaction and she began to feel the familiar building sensation of excitement that made her squirm with uncontrollable pleasure.

Her body began to tremble as she could feel her orgasm preparing to explode, unravelling her and dominating her as she lost control of her body and mind. Her imagination had turned wild with passion and carnal hunger and she could no longer control the images and scenarios playing in her mind. His tongue was in her mouth, licking and swirling around her own. He suddenly dropped his hot, wet mouth to her neck, beaded with sweat from her lust, and began sucking on her skin. Trailing feather-light kisses along her breasts, his lips pinched her nipples, teasing them as he flicked the tip of his tongue along the hard peaks. Her legs wrapped around his lower back, pulling him deep inside of her, forcing the tip of his manhood to press tightly against her cervix in a way that was both erotically painful and pleasurable. She clenched her vaginal walls around his cock and the sudden pressure forced him to gasp loudly in pleasure.

Her fingers moved at a feverish rate, desperate to reach that peak of sexual satisfaction, which would send thousands of electric sparks coursing through her body and cause her body to shudder and writhe as pleasure gushed through her. She held her breathe as she came, out of fear of waking Lavender and Parvati, and the muscles in her nether regions began to clench, fulfilling her need for sexual release.

Gradually and unsteadily, she exhaled and her heart drummed loudly in her chest. Her fingers were saturated with moisture and heat from her ministrations. With a small smile on her face, Hermione wrapped the duvet around her body and slept soundly.

* * *

><p><em>APPARITION LESSONS<em>

_If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before 31st August, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition Instructor.  
>Please sign below if you would like to participate.<br>Cost: 12 Galleons._

'Wow, Apparition Lessons!'

'Oh no, I'm not seventeen until December!'

'D'you think it will be difficult?'

'My brother said it's really hard…he failed three times!'

'Twelve Galleons! Bloody hell, that's expensive…' cried Ron as he and Harry examined the noticeboard.

Hermione grumbled loudly from her armchair at the sudden stampede of noisy Gryffindors, who were gathering in the common room. She had woken up early that morning and decided to work on her homework. The panic at the thought of submitting incomplete homework had finally hit her.

'Hermione, did you _get_ any sleep last night? Have you been here all night?' asked Harry, stepping towards her.

'Of course I haven't,' she snapped. 'But I simply can't hand my homework in like this…It's awful and I don't have time to check my sources or anything…I can't believe this…Why am I so unorganised?' she cried hysterically.

'You'll be fine, Hermione – Oh, hi, Lavender!' cried Ron nervously who moved away from Hermione faster than if he had Apparated.

'Won-Won!' trilled a familiar voice.

Hermione groaned in disgust and turned back to her essays, scribbling feverishly over the parchment. Harry, also, looked distinctly disgruntled as Ron set off out the portrait hole with Lavender latched firmly on to his arm.

'Hey, Hermione, Harry,' said Parvati as she descended the stairs leading from the dormitories. 'What's going on?' she asked curiously, peering at the crowd in front of the noticeboard.

'Apparition Lessons,' replied Harry. 'You going to sign up?'

'Ooh,' squealed Parvati. 'Definitely! Did you two sign?'

Hermione nodded briefly.

'Yeah, I signed up for it,' said Harry, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

'It should be a laugh, eh? Are you OK, Hermione?' asked Parvati anxiously as she watched Hermione's hand zoom from one side of the page to the other.

'She's fine,' said Harry. 'Left her homework a bit late and now she's panicking…She's probably still done more than half the class.'

'I know – I couldn't believe the amount of homework that we were given over the holidays…Unbelievable! Anyway I'm heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast, you coming?'

Harry nodded and walked towards the portrait hole.

'Hermione, you coming?' asked Parvati

'I can't, Parvati…Sorry, but Professor Snape will kill me if I don't finish this essay,' said Hermione, not looking up from her paper. 'I'll see you in class.'

Dread felt like a heavy, iron weight in Hermione's stomach as she traipsed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her essay was no doubt of a 'Troll' standard and she was not sure if she could face her teacher after the images and scenarios that had erupted in her mind the previous night.

She was sure that the use of Legilimency against pupils was strictly forbidden, but she could not help but wonder what Professor Snape would say if he ever delved into her mind. Red, hot embarrassment consumed her at the mere idea of him rooting through her head and uncovering the thoughts she had about him.

Hermione looked ahead determinedly as she walked to her desk but her attention was suddenly caught by the gold, sparkling chain hanging around Ron's neck. He was sitting beside Harry and Lavender at their usual desk, wearing a queasy expression and avoiding looking at the noose around his neck. Lavender was beaming at him proudly and occasionally turned to stare at him and the necklace with a soppy, love-sick expression on her face. Ron, on the other hand, was the colour of beetroot. Both he and Harry looked as if they would welcome the ground opening up before them.

She was not the only one who had noticed Ron's new Christmas present and there was a muffled sound of muttering and giggling spreading through the classroom.

'What the hell is he wearing?'

'Is that a _necklace_?'

'Oh my…'

'We should change the lyrics to Weasley is our _Queen_, now that he's wearing girls' jewellery.'

After settling in her seat next to Parvati and Neville, Hermione chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw Ron's expression of sheer mortification. Ron caught Hermione's eye and Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile which he tried – and failed – to return.

'Settle down! That's enough chattering! Eyes on _me_, Miss Granger…' drawled a familiar voice that caused a pleasant ripple in Hermione's lower abdomen.

_Eyes on me, Miss Granger._

Professor Snape was standing at the front of classroom with his arms folded in his long, black cloak.

'Today,' he began in barely more than a whisper. 'We shall begin our study of the Patronus charm…It is an immensely complex spell and so I doubt that many of you dunderheads will be capable of conjuring it at this early stage. Nevertheless…it is part of the N.E.W.T. curriculum and, as such, it is necessary to devote as much time as possible to mastering this spell.'

The pupils were silent as they listened to him. His eyes swept over the tables of students in front of him and Hermione held her breathe as his gaze fixed upon her.

'This morning, however, I would like you to read the chapters in your textbooks concerning Patronuses. If in the unlikely event that you finish reading before the end of the lesson, I want you to start raking through your pasts and focus on finding the happiest memory that you can think of. This memory must be powerful enough to manifest in a physical form…Is that clear?'

There was a muttered noise of assent from the students as they retrieved their textbooks from their bags.

'Put your homework essays on your desks and I shall collect them as you read,' he said quietly.

Professor Snape began to swoop around the tables, watching the students flick through the pages of their textbooks.

Hermione felt her stomach twinge with dread and nervousness as she placed her incomplete essay on the table. Praying desperately, she wondered if he would understand the reason behind her poor excuse for an essay.

As her desk was suddenly cast into shadow, and she could feel his presence before her, her dread was suddenly replaced by an entirely different sensation. The memories from her fantasy the previous night began to play in her mind and she struggled frantically against the urge to look up at him and meet his dark eyes. Her heart raced as she saw his fingers pick up the parchment in front of her and she concentrated on keeping her eyes focused on the desk.

After a few minutes, he stalked away towards the back of the classroom, allowing her to peep at him over her shoulder.

'Weasley…' he began softly in his dangerous voice. 'What on _earth_ is that sparkly thing around your neck?'

The Slytherins began to chuckle maliciously and Ron looked physically sick with humiliation. His eyes were fixed on the floor and his mouth was clamped shut. Eventually, he mumbled something incoherent.

'Excuse me?' asked Professor Snape icily.

Ron's voice was inaudible as he repeated his response.

'A necklace?' Professor Snape repeated dryly in a loud voice so that the rest of the class could hear.

The room erupted into loud laughter at Snape's words. Only Hermione, Neville and Parvati felt deeply sorry for Ron and turned away from the spectacle. Irritation began to rise within Hermione as she listened to the jeers from the Slytherins. She felt annoyed with Snape for fuelling their hilarity at Ron's expense. It was unkind and nasty, in Hermione's eyes, and completely unnecessary.

Harry was concentrating intently on his textbook as Ron's face burst into a furious blush. Lavender's face was also red but with anger not embarrassment. She seemed to find the situation anything but amusing.

'Remove it. Unless the rules differ for Gryffindor House, I believe that necklaces are not part of the school uniform,' said Professor Snape smoothly.

'Why should he?' snapped Lavender angrily.

Professor Snape eyes flared as he looked her.

'Ten points from Gryffindor. Do not speak to me with such impudence, Miss Brown, or you will thoroughly regret it. Take it off, Weasley, do not make me ask you again.'

'But, girls wear jewellery all the time!' said Lavender defiantly.

Lavender's comment made the Slytherins laugh even louder. Blaise Zabini was banging the table with his fist as tears trickled down his face.

'You hear that, Weasley? "_Girls_ wear jewellery all the time",' trilled Zabini, smirking cruelly at Ron.

Professor Snape smirked as the class continued to guffaw loudly.

'You have a fair point, Miss Brown,' he said lightly. A howl of amusement erupted from the Slytherins.

'Allowing Mr Weasley to walk around the castle wearing the words "My Sweetheart" on a sparkly, gold chain around his neck seems like a fitting punishment to me. Do not, however, expect me to take you seriously if you come to me with a bullying complaint, Mr Weasley.'

The laughter began to subside as Professor Snape resumed pacing among the desks. Hermione could not shake off the annoyance that she felt; Professor Snape had deliberately embarrassed Ron in front of the entire class. Not to mention the fact that he did not reprimand the Slytherins for their clear display of bullying.

Hermione sighed in exasperation; she thought that he had changed but his behaviour showed that he was still the bitter, biased Potions Master who she had known him to be for five years.

'An appalling attempt!' declared Professor Snape at the end of the lesson. He had spent the hour marking their essays which they had written over the Christmas holidays. 'These essays were atrocious! This rubbish would not pass at N.E.W.T. level,' he snarled, waving the pages of parchment that he held in his hand. 'Your homework for tomorrow morning is to write a summary of the chapters on Patronuses. Three sheets of parchment. Perhaps tomorrow you will be on better form…Now, get out of my sight.'

The class rose to their feet, grumbling quietly as they exited the classroom. Professor Snape strolled lazily towards his desk and sat down.

'Wait behind, Miss Granger.'

Hermione walked obediently towards his desk. She said nothing and merely stared at his desk as she waited for him to speak.

'Are you available to come tonight to work on your dissertation?'

'Yes, sir,' she said stiffly.

'Good, come to my classroom at six o'clock,' he said briskly, looking up at her.

'OK, sir.'

'What's the matter?' he snarled, standing up from behind his desk.

'What? I'm fine,' she said meekly.

'Why are you answering me in monosyllables?'

Hermione shrugged and continued to stare at the desk.

'I asked you a question. _Kindly_, answer it.'

She sighed heavily and looked up into his face. His eyes were burning with intense frustration as he stared at her questioningly.

'Was that _really_ necessary, sir? To embarrass him like that…You know he wasn't wearing the necklace through choice…'

Professor Snape turned his back on her and paced away from her.

'It was not school uniform…' he said nonchalantly.

'But did you have to be so cruel?' she said, walking around to face him. Something akin to anger crossed his face but in the months that she had spent with him she knew full well that it was not anger, but shame.

'I –' he began angrily. 'What is this newfound concern for – _Weasley_? I thought you weren't friends anymore…' he spat.

'You were abusing your authority as a teacher and ridiculing a student.'

'Hardly…' he muttered, rolling his eyes. 'He brought it upon himself by wearing the stupid thing.'

'Why do you insist on resorting to cruelty and unkindness to gain respect from the Slytherins?'

'You have no right to tell me how to discipline my students!' he barked.

Hermione blushed and bit her lip; she had forgotten that she was addressing a teacher. In the months of working beside him, and in light of her recent feelings, she had forgotten her rightful place.

'All I'm saying is that there's no need to treat people with such unkindness.'

Professor Snape stared into her face and his eyes flashed with anger. But he was the first to break their eye-contact: he bowed his head and looked bitterly at the floor.

'I shall see you tonight,' said Hermione gently. 'Have a good day, sir.'

She slowly pulled the heavy wooden door behind her, until it closed with a soft _click_, completely oblivious to the watchful eyes of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher that followed her out of the room.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Severus Snape spent the rest of the afternoon in a foul mood. His mind was distracted as he sat at his desk in his classroom, attempting to mark the pile of essays before him. Fortunately, he had no more classes for the rest of the day and he had wisely decided to stay in his classroom to avoid inflicting his bad temper on the rest of the faculty.

Regret and guilt were feelings he tried hard to prevent from surfacing within him. He could not afford to feel such emotions as he knew full well that they would be his undoing. The safety of the wizarding world depended on his ability to play double agent for the Order convincingly. Only in the dark, small hours of the night could he allow himself to bury his head into his pillow and repent for the deaths he witnessed, the torture he endured and…for _her_.

His one, greatest regret.

But something had changed. Remorse and guilt were emerging at his smallest misdemeanour. Taunting his students was a control tactic, which drove his classes to regard him with fear and respect. He never, for a moment, expected that this harmless method of control would cause him to feel guilty and ashamed. After all the things he had done, mocking students was far down on his record of offences and transgressions for which he should feel ashamed.

_There's no need to treat people with such unkindness._

He swore bitterly as he began to pace in his classroom. He had given her the upper hand. He was showing far too much of himself to the girl. He could not understand her behaviour towards him nor why he was so indulgent towards her. Perhaps, she was merely a pawn in Potter's hand, using their...friendship, as she called it, to wheedle information from him.

Potter had made his suspicions clear on the first night back at Hogwarts. According to the boy, he was to blame for Black's death. Perhaps, the girl felt the same way as well. If so, she was a very good actress.

A voice sounded at the back of his mind, speaking softly in dissent at the train of thought that was flowing through his brain.

She was naïve and trusting and would keep no secrets from her friends. But the girl had already learned her lesson about spilling everything to Potter and Weasley. Severus was in no doubt of the fact that she would not betray his trust again. He thought back to the night of Slughorn's party when she had used Occlumency as a means of expressing her apology. The beseeching look on her face, as she had opened her mind to him, would be forever branded into his memory. He would never forget how freely she had allowed him to sweep through the memories and feelings that she had felt. For a student, the trust she had in him was unnerving.

The girl was not like the other students he taught. Although he regarded her as a student, there was a closeness that Severus felt towards her, which he did not feel towards his other classes. It was this closeness that had compelled him to arrange her stay with her parents and that allowed him to truly listen to her, taking heed of her words. The girl was kind to him and, upon looking through her mind, he was astonished by how much she genuinely prized their acquaintance.

Severus would never admit the truth to himself but, in his heart of hearts, she reminded him of Lily. Her kindness, her idiotic Gryffindor friends, who she loved in spite of their foolishness, her ambition and her bravery were all reminiscent of the red haired female who frequented his dreams and nightmares.

Lily was not just the woman he had loved throughout his entire life; she was a reminder of the spitefulness and stupidity of his younger self that had led him to join the Dark Lord and commit the biggest mistake he had ever made. Wet, dark spots appeared on his robes as he stared at the stone floor and something that felt like warm fingers slithered down his cheeks.

Slowly, he withdrew his wand from the sleeve of his robes and raised it into the air.

'Expecto patronum,' he murmured softly.

A beautiful, silver doe burst from the tip of his wand and began to prance around the room, trailing a silvery glow in its wake. Bit by bit, the doe approached him, taking tentative steps forward. He reached out a hand to touch it and caress the face of the gentle creature. But his fingers glided through the silver vapour and the doe faded into darkness. The doe represented Lily in so many ways; he could see it as he could see Lily in his mind, but it was something that he could never touch nor speak to nor could he confess how sorry he was for all he had done. The only way that he could truly repent for his actions was to save the world and protect the boy.

Pain suddenly shot through his left forearm and Severus' wet, dark eyes widened in realisation.

He was rarely summoned during the afternoon as the Dark Lord was cautious of raising Dumbledore's suspicions. He knew that something significant had happened for the Dark Lord to call him at this peculiar hour. Swallowing the dread that was beginning to rise within him, as it did every time he was summoned, Professor Snape emptied his mind of the thoughts that had been swirling through his head. In four long strides, he had reached the door of his classroom before he hurried to the castle's Apparition point.

'Over a year has passed since my resurrection…Tell me, Death Eaters, what have we accomplished?' he asked softly in a voice that sent shivers down their spines.

The Death Eaters were standing in a loop around the shrouded figure in front of them, whose skin was so pale that it seemed to emit a hoary glow. Despite the hour, the lights were dimmed and the curtains were drawn but the tell-tale signs of grandeur and wealth told Severus that they were standing in the dining room at Malfoy Manor.

'My Lord,' began a breathless female voice, which he recognised instantly as that of Bellatrix Lestrange. 'I – I killed Sirius Black, he –'

'Sirius Black,' he hissed into the darkness. 'A blood-traitor, fugitive of the law…'

He traced his mouth with his long, pale index finger as he began to pace through the empty space in the circle of Death Eaters.

Bellatrix Lestrange nodded frantically, causing the hood of her robes to fall backwards to reveal her pale face, which was etched with longing.

'His death was insignificant,' said Voldemort coldly as he looked at Bellatrix in the eye. Her dark brown eyes were wide and brimming with tears as she met his cold, red stare. 'His demise has merely fuelled Harry Potter's desire to kill me.'

He turned away from her and continued pacing, his pale feet striding along the glossed floor.

'My Lord…We have achieved so much,' began a quavering, nervous male voice. Severus did not recognise the voice of the person stammering and the Death Eater mask hid the speaker's face from sight. 'The collapse of the Brockdale bridge…Amelia Bones –'

'All of which was carried out by far braver and stronger wizards than yourself, Carrow!' snarled a deep voice.

Amycus Carrow opened his mouth to respond but was silenced by the sound of his master's voice.

'Enough,' whispered Voldemort in a low hiss. The Death Eaters bowed their heads as their master rounded on them. 'Inconsequential acts of havoc…Nothing more…You have failed me. All of you.'

Voldemort stopped dead in his tracks and the silence that followed was deafening.

'I had hoped to be in control of the Ministry by now…But we are no closer than before.'

'My – My Lord, if I may speak…' rasped the wheezy voice of Peter Pettigrew. 'We tried to capture that Ministry blood traitor to – to interrogate him…B – But – he – he…It wasn't our fault, my Lord,' stuttered the Death Eater as he sunk to his knees.

'It wasn't your fault, Wormtail?' asked Voldemort dangerously. Severus' eye was drawn to Voldemort's fingers, which were surreptitiously drawing his wand from his robes.

The wizard shook his head until it became a blur.

'No, my Lord, I – '

'Crucio!'

Peter's screams were loud and penetrating as they echoed off of the surrounding walls and high ceiling. The chandelier above them began to tinkle softly as the volume of his cries increased.

'Do not make excuses!' whispered Voldemort as Peter's body finally slunk silently to the floor in a twitching and trembling heap.

'My Lord, I, too, am to blame for the failure of the task…I accompanied Wormtail as we endeavoured to carry out your orders,' said Yaxley smoothly. 'But we are not alone in our failure…I believe Snape and the Lestranges were ordered to capture another Ministry official and bring him to you for interrogation…'

Severus stiffened at Yaxley's words and glowered through his mask at the wizard standing opposite him.

'How dare you –' began Bellatrix angrily. The witch reached into the pocket of her robes.

'Quiet!' cried Voldemort. Ice cold fingers reached into Severus' throat, gripping his voice box and preventing him from speaking. Their master had cast a non-verbal Silencio charm on the group of Death Eaters and many of them raised their hands to their throats, trying to ease the pressure that was squeezing their necks. 'Do not attempt to shift blame, Yaxley…You are _all_ at fault.'

He lifted his skeletal face towards the ceiling and inhaled through the snake-like slits in his face.

'I am disappointed. You have failed to retrieve and interrogate members of the Ministry of Magic and you failed to bring me the Prophecy last summer…'

A moment of silence followed, allowing his words to sink in.

'No matter, no matter…Lord Voldemort is merciful; you shall all be given the chance to amend your mistakes and redeem yourselves.' His red eyes blazed as they scrutinised the hooded faces surrounding him. 'You may have noticed that our numbers have increased…the Dementors are our natural allies and have deserted the fortress of Azkaban…They assisted me in freeing our comrades who were imprisoned after their little…_blunder_ at the Ministry. What do you have to say, Lucius?' he hissed, gliding towards a tall, cloaked wizard standing on Yaxley's left hand side.

The wizard on Severus' right began to tremble violently and he assumed that the man standing beside him, beneath the mask and Death Eater robes, was Draco Malfoy.

'I merely wish to beg your forgiveness, my Lord. I shan't disappoint you again,' whispered Lucius in a hoarse voice.

'Good,' replied Voldemort coldly.

'The boy shall not escape us in future,' he croaked as he swallowed thickly.

Voldemort nodded and continued to stride through the empty space. His feet came to a halt as he stood in front of Severus, but his blazing, red eyes were fixed on the trembling wizard to his right.

'Ah, yes…_Potter_…I must confess my disappointment, Draco. As one of his classmates, I thought you would be of great use to me…Apparently not…Let us hope that you will be more successful in your _other_ task…'

Severus' eyes flicked in Lucius' direction. Despite the voluminous Death Eater robes, Professor Snape could see Lucius' body start to shake nervously as his masked face turned towards his son. Draco was deliberately avoiding the snakelike face of the wizard in front of him and kept his stare fixed on his father. Voldemort noticed their exchange and a cruel smile surfaced on his white lips.

'Are you…_glad_ to see your father, Draco? I must say that you do not deserve this reward for you have failed to tell me anything of value about your peer…You will not disappoint me again, Draco,' he stated in his cold, quiet voice.

'Of – of course n – not, my…Lord,' he stammered in a hoarse whisper.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes continued to bore into Draco before his mouth split into a humourless, pitiless smirk. He moved smoothly past Draco's quavering form and resumed pacing in the centre of the Death Eater loop.

'In the matter of Harry Potter…His death has been postponed by pure luck and the help of others. It is a foolish notion to think that he could ever defeat Lord Voldemort. But while the boy lives, the wizarding world clings to the glimmer of hope that the Chosen One will strike and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shall truly be defeated. This hope must be snuffed out,' whispered Voldemort. 'My plan to lure Harry Potter into the Department of Mysteries last summer was successful, to an extent…Had it not been for the arrival of the Order of Phoenix and your _foolishness_, the Prophecy would have been mine and both Dumbledore and Potter would be dead,' he spat viciously.

The Death Eaters bowed their heads in shame as their eyes met the furious glower of their master.

'However,' he said quietly. 'I learned one thing that day…The boy has inherited many of dear Lily Potter's qualities –'

Severus felt a sickening drop in his stomach as her name fell from the pale lips of his cruel mouth. The last time he had said her name it was when – when –

_'Do not squander your affections on a Mudblood, Severus.'_

_The red eyes were cold and unpitying as they looked at the young man, running his hand frantically through his long, black hair. He was biting his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back the tears of hysteria and fear._

_'I – My Lord, I beg you…Spare her life...I shall do anything you ask of me. But, please, do not…k – kill her,' he begged. Fear had consumed him; fear of the wizard standing before him, almost smirking at his anguish, and fear of losing her._

_'There are plenty of other witches of a much higher blood status and who are worthy of you, Severus…Yet you yearn for a filthy Muggle…'_

_'All I ask, My Lord, is that you do not kill her. By all means, kill the child and kill Potter! Spare her life! I beseech you.'_

_He sank to his knees in a display of subservience, but also because the weight of his fear was physically pushing him to the ground. In losing her, he would lose everything. Voldemort's lips split into a wide, cruel grin as his red eyes scrutinised the trembling wizard before him._

_'I remember why I entreated you to join my services, Severus…Such self-serving cruelty…In the event of the deaths of her husband and son, Lily would be free to be your's…It is almost amusing to think of…One of my Death Eaters married to a Mudblood member of the Order of the Phoenix. Very amusing…'_

_'Please, please...Do not kill her…I beg you, my Lord…' pleaded Severus._

_'Think of what you could become. The power that I can offer you and the rewards that you would reap…Are you willing to throw that away for a filthy Mudblood witch?'_

_'No, my Lord. I would never desert you…All I ask is that you let her go free. Do not harm her…' Tears broke free from his eyes and began to pour down his cheeks. His breathing was irregular and heavy as he choked on loud sobs. Voldemort's amused grin turned to one of anger as he watched the defeated man before him._

_'We are finished with this discussion, Severus. Lily Potter's son must die and anyone who attempts to protect the boy. Your grief will pass and you will realise that I was right. Do not waste your life hankering after a Mudblood.'_

_Voldemort Disapparated into the darkness as Severus trembling body collapsed into the sodden mud._

'…He risked his own life to save someone he loved. Sirius Black. That day, I learned that Harry Potter would do anything to save the lives of those he loves. And so, my Death Eaters, it is his friends that we must target.'

He allowed a few moments for his words to sink in as he retraced his steps until he was standing in front of Severus.

'You may remember, Severus, our discussion about this Granger girl…The time has come.'

Severus' blood ran cold at his words. Even though he knew that both she and her parents were safe, he could not stop panic and fear from coursing through him.

'While _she_ remains under the protection of the mighty Dumbledore, her parents do not,' he continued. 'By capturing them and holding them under house arrest, we have only to wait until the Easter holidays when she will return home. Once Potter learns of her capture, he will inevitably try to save her. He would rather die than leave his friend to the mercy of Lord Voldemort.'

'My Lord, what of Potter's other friend? The Weasley boy?' asked Lucius in a croaky whisper.

Bellatrix burst into cruel laughter.

'The Weasleys are a wizarding family, Lucius,' replied Voldemort lazily. 'A rather large one at that…It would be significantly harder to target their son. The Grangers, on the other hand, have no link to the Order of the Phoenix and have no form of magical protection.'

'My Lord,' murmured Professor Snape as he stepped forward with his head bowed slightly. 'If I may make a suggestion?' he asked tentatively.

'Speak, Severus,' hissed the snake-like man before him.

'Would it not be more prudent to wait until we have seized the Ministry before we make any attempts to ensnare the boy? The boy and his friends remain protected by, both, Dumbledore _and_ the Ministry of Magic –'

'On the contrary, Severus, by the time Easter is upon us, I shall have assumed total control of the Ministry.'

'And what of the Order, my Lord?' asked Severus, hoping that his master had not noticed how dry his mouth had become or the slight tremble pulsing through his body. Professor Snape struggled to keep his face blank under his Death Eater mask.

'With a host of Ministry officials and Aurors at our command, the Order stands no chance of survival,' announced Voldemort.

The sudden sound of doors banging made the Death Eaters jerk in surprise.

'Goyle! Crabbe! Gibbon! Did you acquire it?' asked Voldemort sharply.

'Yes, my Lord, we got the files on the Granger girl and her family,' answered an enormous, cloaked wizard, who Severus recognised as Vincent Crabbe Sr.

'You have done well. Let this be the beginning of your success,' replied Voldemort, stepping forward to receive the folder of documents, bearing the Ministry's seal, that Crabbe held between his thick, gloved fingers. 'For tonight's..._festivities_, I shall only require a handful of you. We shall Apparate to London to pay Mr and Mrs Granger a pleasant surprise.'

Voldemort smiled cruelly as he scanned the crowd of Death Eaters.

'Severus, Rabastan and Rowle shall accompany me. The rest of you may go.'

The Death Eaters curved their backs into deep bows before Disapparating swiftly. Severus turned to look at the remaining Death Eaters but their faces were hidden by their masks.

Bile was rising rapidly in his throat as he considered Voldemort's reaction once he discovered the Grangers' absence. It was only natural that the Dark Lord would turn to Severus for an explanation as he was the only one who had known, up until that point, of the Dark Lord's interest in Hermione.

They Disapparated under Disillusionment charms to a street lined with Muggle houses. Severus inhaled deeply and pushed the memory of the street to the back of his mind to prevent the Dark Lord from uncovering the truth.

'Alohomora,' grunted Thorfinn Rowle as he pushed his weight against the heavy, wooden door. The Death Eaters filed into the house and divided up to search the house. Severus thundered up the flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms in feigned search of the Grangers.

'Homenum revelio,' whispered Voldemort as he stepped into the empty living room. To his outrage and shock, the spell did not detect any human presence.

'Empty!' snarled Rabastan Lestrange as he stormed into the living room. Severus felt his stomach drop as the Dark Lord let out a shriek of fury and he, reluctantly, descended the flight of stairs.

'They've gone, my Lord,' he muttered, casting his eyes towards the ground. Professor Snape hoped that his master would mistake this as a sign of frustration and disappointment as opposed to nervous tension.

'Severus…' he hissed menacingly. 'Look at me.'

Obediently, Professor Snape raised his eyes to meet those of the Dark Lord, which were burning red with fury. Opening his mind, he allowed Voldemort to rake through his memories and his emotions. As an accomplished Occlumens, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher hid the memories of the Granger family at the back of his mind, pushing other misleading images forward to the forefront of his brain, within Voldemort's grasp. After several moments, Professor Snape could feel the Dark Lord withdrawing from his mind, allowing him to relax slightly.

'I never doubted you, Severus...But I had to be certain,' said Voldemort coldly. 'Burn this Muggle shack to the ground,' he spat bitterly, turning to Rowle and Lestrange.

'Confringo!' shrieked Rabastan, pointing his wand at the opposite end of the room, which promptly burst into flames.

'Incendio!'

'Come, Severus, follow me.'

Professor Snape followed Voldemort out of the door of the house, which was beginning to emit thick, black smoke from the flames inside.

'Every year, the boy grows wiser and stronger, Severus. But, even though his wisdom and strength shall never surpass my own, I cannot help but wonder why the Prophecy marked him as my equal, the only one who is capable of defeating me. _I_ have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality…But how can I be at ease when the boy still lives? He must die, Severus. Our success depends upon it.'

Severus nodded in response, but his heart began to hammer painfully against his ribcage as his eyes surveyed his master. The tall, cloaked figure in front of him was striding purposefully towards the house standing opposite the Granger household. Voldemort's pale form seemed to glow in the darkness of the night and Severus felt his body begin to break out in a cold sweat as the Dark Lord ascended the stone stairs, leading towards the door of the house.

The warm light of the house's interior spilled out onto the street as Voldemort unlocked the door with a silent spell. Panic washed through Severus, robbing him of his bravery and rendering him incapable of following his master into the house. His feet felt like blocks of iron as he, reluctantly, began to ascend the steps. The closer he moved towards the door, the more he could hear. Severus strained his ears desperately in an attempt to block out the sound of the voices coming from within the house. But as he reached the door, the exchange between the Muggle inhabitant and his master was as clear as glass.

'_Where_ are the Grangers?' he hissed menacingly.

'I – I – I don't know…' squeaked a panic-stricken voice. It sounded like that of an elderly woman and Severus gripped the door frame for support. He could not bear to enter the house nor look upon the face of the Dark Lord's victim.

'Tell me,' commanded Voldemort.

'Please – please, I really – They never told me…Possibly Australia…Yes, yes, Australia! I remember, they said that they always wanted to go there! Please, have mercy,' stammered the elderly woman tearfully. She shrieked loudly and abruptly, causing Severus to gasp out loud.

He could visualise the scene in his mind; the Dark Lord rifling painfully through her thoughts and memories, searching for the truth. But, of course, she would have no idea; no idea who the snake-like creature was and no idea what was happening in her mind. To her, it would have seemed as if the Grangers had simply decided to get up and relocate on the spur of the moment.

Severus banged his head against the door frame, cursing himself. He should have planted fake memories in the minds of the neighbours. It was _his_ fault. _He_ could have ensured their safety.

He knew the old woman's fate a second before it happened.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!'

A violent flash of green erupted from the windows and through the open door.

Seconds later, Voldemort appeared before him, sliding his wand up his sleeve.

'D – Did she know where they are?' stammered Severus, wiping the sweat from his lip and trying to assume an air of composure.

'The old woman proved to be useless,' he hissed. 'The girl must have sent her parents into hiding…Incendio!'

They stood at the bottom of the stone steps, watching the house as the amber flames consumed the brick walls. Rowle and Lestrange joined them as they stared upwards at the burning house.

'What news, my Lord?' asked Rowle, eyeing the burning house warily.

'Nothing,' whispered Voldemort coldly. Slowly, he turned to face Severus, who felt his heart freeze with panic.

'Thank you for your assistance tonight, Severus. You may return to Hogwarts before your absence arouses the old fool's suspicion.'

Severus hid the relief on his face as he bowed to his master before Disapparating.

* * *

><p>'Acid Pops,' he muttered and the gargoyle leapt aside, allowing Professor Snape to ascent the moving spiral stone staircase. His hands were quivering as he removed his Death Eater mask and stowed it in his robes. His cheeks were damp as he knocked on the door leading to the Headmaster's office.<p>

'Come in, Severus.'

'Sybill was right,' he announced loudly and abruptly as he strode towards Dumbledore's desk. Professor Snape stood in front of the Headmaster, who was seated behind his desk, clasping his hands behind his back so that he would not draw attention to his trembling fingers. 'The Dark Lord grows anxious that his plans are not proceeding as swiftly as he had hoped…But he means to target the boy's friends.'

Professor Snape repeated Voldemort's speech while the Headmaster nodded slowly.

'Fortunately, we have already taken action…When will he attempt to strike the Grangers?'

'Tonight. He – He had planned to keep the Grangers under house arrest until the Easter holidays, when he had hoped to ensnare Miss Granger upon her return home. Myself, Rabastan Lestrange and Thorfinn Rowle and – and –'

'Tom,' replied Professor Dumbledore simply.

Professor Snape inclined his head.

'Yes…We Apparated to London to Miss Granger's home…He had acquired documents regarding her parents' residence from the Ministry's files –'

'So they _have_ succeeded in gaining access to the Ministry, even if they have not yet assumed total control?' asked Professor Dumbledore.

Severus nodded stiffly before lowering himself into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

'Naturally, the house was empty and, in a fit of rage, the Dark Lord ordered Rowle and Lestrange to set it on fire…Whilst I – I – went with him to the house across the street, where h – _he_ began to interrogate a woman and –'

'Accio Firewhisky.'

A bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky floated towards the desk and the Headmaster poured a small measure into a glass before handing it to the wizard before him.

Professor Snape drank deeply, relishing the burning sensation, and replaced the glass on the desk. They sat in silence for several seconds until Severus spoke again.

'I – It was my fault,' murmured Severus, rubbing his face with his hands. 'It was my fault that he killed her…If I had done my job _properly_, she might have lived –'

'Lord Voldemort does not leave survivors,' said the Headmaster quietly. 'Once people have served their purpose, he will not hesitate to dispose of them – '

'But I _should_ have planted a fake memory in her mind!' he snarled, banging his fist on the desk. 'If she had been of use to him, he might –'

'He would have killed the woman regardless of whether she had been of any use to him or not, Severus…Do not blame yourself,' murmured the Headmaster.

Guilt coursed through the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher along with the burning sensation of the Firewhisky.

'You have saved an innocent couple as well as their daughter from a terrible fate and, in doing so, you have saved many lives,' continued Professor Dumbledore.

'It is so _easy_ for you,' growled Severus between gritted teeth. 'It is so _easy_ for you to tell me of all the lives I have saved. _You_ do not have to endure the suffering or the deaths, which _I_ have to witness and play along with every time that you send me into his midst –'

'I am going to stop you right there, Severus. Remember, it was not _my_ decision to join his ranks all those years ago,' he replied sternly, peering at him over his spectacles. 'You chose the wrong side, Severus, and if you truly wish to amend your mistake then it is your duty to carry on with our plan.'

Severus made a strange noise in his throat and continued to stare at his knees.

Red, hot fury was welling within him and he wanted nothing more than to strike the wizard in front of him.

Minutes passed in silence and, slowly, Severus felt the wave of anger begin to dissipate.

'The Dark Lord remains fixed on the goal of infiltrating the Ministry…' he said eventually in a monotonous tone of voice. 'But he is confident that the Ministry will fall under his control within the coming months…before Easter, to be exact.'

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly.

'I shall advise Scrimgeour to increase the Ministry's security…It is likely that the Ministry _will_ fall, what with Tom's determination and steady accumulation of power, but we must try to postpone that day for as long as possible.'

'What shall I tell the girl?' asked Professor Snape.

'Nothing,' replied the Headmaster heavily. 'Her parents are safe and out of harm's way…There is no need to alarm her.'

'What about the death of her neighbour?'

'Regrettable,' replied the Headmaster sadly. 'But there is nothing that we can do, Severus.'

Professor Snape failed to conceal the shock on his face as his eyes widened and he exhaled shakily. He opened his mouth several times to speak but no words came out.

Standing up abruptly, Severus began to march towards the door.

'I had a visit from Miss Granger, this evening,' said Professor Dumbledore as his eyes fixed upon his colleague's retreating back.

Severus stopped in his tracks and waited for the Headmaster to continue.

'She told me that you two had arranged to meet this evening to work on her dissertation. Apparently, she waited in your classroom for the better part of an hour, before coming to my office to alert me of your absence. The girl was…most distraught and worried that you were in danger. It is touching to see how much your pupils care about you, Severus.'

Seconds ticked by in silence as Severus stood with his back to the Headmaster, processing his words.

Eventually, after several minutes had passed, The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher opened his mouth to respond. But he could think of nothing to say and clamped his lips shut. He left the Headmaster's office in a furious flurry of billowing robes. He gritted his teeth together as he stormed towards the Entrance Hall, seething at Professor Dumbledore's parting words. The Headmaster's blasé attitude towards the death of an unarmed, vulnerable Muggle infuriated him.

As he walked, the sound of voices, the calm tone of the Headmaster, the cruel laughter of the Death Eaters, the old woman's pleas and the hiss of his master resonated within his eardrums.

The feelings of guilt that he had felt that afternoon were nothing compared to the remorse he felt at that moment. He had stood by and let his master murder an elderly woman. Not just any, random elderly woman; it was _her_ neighbour.

_The girl was…most distraught and worried that you were in danger. It is touching to see how much your pupils care about you, Severus._

An ice cold wave of shame rose within him, freezing his lungs and replacing the oxygen with a painful flood of shame and remorse. He stopped suddenly, for he could no longer control his limbs, and slumped against a stone wall, which he clutched desperately for support.

After all that he had witnessed that evening, the fact that a seventeen year old girl cared about his safety made his throat tighten as his eyelids began to feel heavy and warm. He dreaded the thought of facing her the following morning. Over the months that they had worked together, she had shown him nothing but care and kindness. He had repaid her kindness by standing back and allowing her neighbour to be killed. Severus could not block the thoughts forming in his mind; he wondered how close she had been to the old woman…Perhaps Hermione had visited her frequently. Or perhaps they barely knew each other, exchanging only friendly greetings and Christmas cards. The possibilities made little difference; he had stood by and done nothing to save the old woman.

He stood against the wall for several minutes, waiting for the feeling of sickness to subside and the agony coursing through him to ease slightly. Gradually, he righted himself and stepped away from the wall that he had been clutching for support.

Severus instantly dismissed the thought of returning to the dungeons; sleep was an impossible notion as the night's events continued to flash painfully in his memory. He continued to march towards the Entrance Hall and slipped out of the confines of the castle walls. He strode purposefully towards the Apparition point although he did not know why he felt the inclination to return to Muggle London.

After performing a Disillusionment charm over his cloaked body, Severus Apparated with a loud _pop_, which echoed in the darkness that had spread over the grounds of Hogwarts.

The houses standing opposite each other were smashed, battered and blackened.

As his dark eyes flickered between the two destroyed houses, Severus saw that the damage was identical. Both were physically marred by fire and dark magic. 'Marred', he realised, was understatement as he moved closer to the houses: they had become ruins.

The flames had vanished, which he credited to the two, red fire engines that were parked in the street. The area was scattered with vehicles with blazing lights and ear-splitting sirens and hordes of Muggles dressed in uniform.

Both houses were circled with police tape and baffled policemen, scratching their heads. They were completely bewildered by the situation.

Severus stood watching the Muggles and the chaos as the ground at his feet became peppered with dark grey spots.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

'Psst, Hermione! Come and sit here,' whispered an urgent voice.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she sat in her usual seat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ron and Harry were grinning widely at her as they gestured excitedly to the vacant seat at their table.

Her face clouded in confusion as she stared at the two boys.

'Lavender's off sick today,' explained Harry in response to Hermione's raised eyebrows. 'Sit with us! I've got loads to tell you about my meeting with Dumbledore last night.'

Curiosity got the better of Hermione and, with a murmured apology to Neville and Parvati, she hurried over to Ron and Harry's desk.

'So, what happened?' she said, pulling her textbook out of her bag as she waited eagerly for Harry to elaborate.

The trio bowed their heads together as Harry gave her a whispered summary of his meeting with Dumbledore the previous night. He told her of Tom Riddle's revenge upon his Muggle family, which his uncle Morfin was framed for, as well as the task that the Headmaster had assigned to him.

Ron exhaled heavily and cupped his mouth with his hands.

'Bloody hell…When are you going to speak to Slughorn?' asked Ron, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

Harry shrugged in response.

'The next opportunity I get, probably.'

They turned to Hermione who had not said anything since she sat down.

'So, You-Know-Who killed his own father and his grandparents…just because they were Muggles?' she whispered in a small voice.

Despite the fact that these events had happened years and years ago, Hermione could not control the feeling of queasiness within her. She was fully aware of Voldemort's beliefs concerning Muggles and it came as no surprise that he would murder his own relatives for no reason other than their blood status but that did not make the tale any less horrifying.

The nausea that she felt was not lessened by the arrival of Professor Snape. On the contrary, her stomach felt greatly unsettled and her body had turned cold with shock as she watched him walk from the door of the dungeon to his desk.

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and the drooping skin beneath his lower set of eyelashes was stained with dark shadows. He looked physically drained to the extent that his legs could not support his weight. Her eyes followed the movements of his hand as his fingers curled around the table edge for extra support, pushing his weary body upright. Anxiety surged within her as her imagination began to conjure up various scenarios that could explain his condition and his absence the previous night.

Harry's anecdote had truly emphasised the full extent of Voldemort's cold-bloodedness and malice and to think that he controlled the man standing in front of her made Hermione feel physically sick.

Slowly and tentatively, he attempted to step away from the support of the table but his knees buckled before he had even lifted his foot. Pushing his spine against the table, he returned to his position, relying upon the desk to keep his torso straight. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead with the strain of holding himself up and Hermione was desperately suppressing the urge to help him. His fingers trembled as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead.

'Today, you will be continuing with the chapters on Patronuses. How many of you have finished reading the chapters?' he asked quietly as his eyes scanned the group of students.

Hermione's hand was the only one that shot into the air.

'Very well…' he muttered. 'Continue reading.'

Her brown eyes were fixed on his trembling body and his knuckles, which had turned pale with the effort of holding himself upright. Slowly, his eyes slid to her own but, as their eyes met, he turned his gaze abruptly towards the wall at the back of the classroom. Hermione sighed heavily and began to reread the passages on Patronuses.

Professor Snape stood against the desk for several minutes, waiting until the students were engrossed in their textbooks before attempting to move again. Using his table for support, he moved awkwardly around the edge of the desk towards his chair. He finally collapsed into the seat and winced slightly in relief.

Throughout the lesson, Hermione sneaked glances at the wizard sitting at the front of the classroom. He was not marking essays as was his custom whilst they were working; his eyes were cast downwards towards the surface of his desk and his face was deadpan.

He remained that way for the entire hour until the bell rang, rousing him from his reverie. The students eagerly closed their textbooks and reached under their desks for their school bags.

'Next lesson, we shall begin the practical work involved in conjuring the Patronus charm. You are dismissed,' said Professor Snape loudly over the noise of the bell and the rustling of paper and textbooks.

As Hermione packed her bag, she overheard snippets of the other students' conversations about the mysterious behaviour of their teacher.

'I wonder what happened to him…He looks awful…Well, more than usual, at least.'

'I know! Did you see him stagger through the door?'

'What do you think is the matter with him?' asked Harry suspiciously, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'Dunno,' said Ron, shrugging his shoulders.

'He could barely stand…Do you know anything about it, Hermione?' asked Harry, who was scowling at the man in question.

Hermione shook her head as she took her time fastening her bag. She hoped that Harry and Ron would exit the class before her, allowing her to hang back and speak to Professor Snape in private. But the duo continued to natter by her side as she slung her back over her shoulder.

'Hurry up, Hermione, we're going to be late,' moaned Ron, peering at the watch on her wrist.

'You two go on ahead. I want to speak to Professor Snape about my dissertation,' said Hermione airily, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks of exasperation before draping their bags over their shoulders and following the other students out of the classroom. Hermione waited until the door banged shut before she hurried towards his desk. She opened her mouth to let the questions, which had been building in her mind throughout the lesson, spill from her lips.

'Sir, are you OK? What happened last night? I went to see Professor Dumbledore and he told me that you were busy – I thought – I was –'

Hermione faltered as she looked up at him and saw that his gaze had not shifted from the desk; he did not seem to have heard a word that she had said. She closed her mouth, feeling foolish, and looked down at her shoes to hide her embarrassment.

'I am…fine, Miss Granger,' he said in a strangled voice. He did not look up at her and Hermione could not shake off the feeling that he was deliberately avoiding eye-contact with her. 'It has been a long night.'

She walked around the side of his desk so that she was standing closer to him. Her fingers gently touched the cuff of his sleeve.

'Do you want to talk about it, sir?' she asked gently.

His eyes widened at her touch and she felt him jump slightly in surprise. Gradually, he raised his face until he was looking straight into her eyes, which were round and shining with concern. His own black eyes were shining in the dim light of the classroom and Hermione could feel him tremble beneath her fingertips

They stared at each other in silence for several seconds until, suddenly, she felt his arm jerk away from her and the lines around his mouth deepened into a scowl.

'I think not, Miss Granger,' he said coldly. The shine in his eye hardened and his deadpan expression had transformed into a furious glower. He wrenched his eyes away from her face and refocused his gaze on the desk in front of him.

'What has happened?' she asked tremulously. 'Have…_I_ done something?'

He gave a mirthless laugh.

'Are you so big-headed to think that you, alone, hold sway over my temper?'

'Of course not, I –'

'Get out, Miss Granger. I have no interest in pursuing this conversation.'

'Why are you being so unkind?'

'You must dispose of these presumptions that you harbour about the nature of our relationship. We are not friends and I was wrong to encourage you.'

Hermione opened and closed her mouth; she had no inkling of the source of his mood. But it seemed to turn blacker by the minute.

'Do you know what I do for a living?' he growled in a low voice.

'You…teach, sir,' she said tentatively, completely bewildered by his question. Her eyebrows creased together as she raised her head to look at him. 'How is this relevant?'

'Don't be naïve,' he muttered disdainfully. 'You know of my other employment...For all the intelligence that you possess, Miss Granger, I am amazed at your inability to fathom why it is impossible for a seventeen year old girl and a _Death Eater_ to be friends.'

Hermione felt something click at the back of her mind; in the time that she had worked with him, she had come to understand the guilt he bore as he carried out his role as a Death Eater spy. She could not even begin to imagine the horrifying things he had to witness in Voldemort's company and she often marvelled at his ability to endure such horrors at night and return to his classroom, by day, to teach.

He was, in truth, the bravest man she ever knew.

But, with guilt, there came powerful, overwhelming feelings of self-loathing.

'You are so wrong,' she began despairingly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'You are not a Death Eater.'

'The truth is branded onto my skin,' he retorted coldly, pulling his shoulder out of her reach.

'Maybe, you were. But not – not any more.'

He said nothing.

'You're part of the Order! You saved my parents, you've saved me _and_ my friends time and time again! You've stopped…_him_ from taking over the Ministry! How – how can you say that you are one of them?'

'When you put it like that, I am a traitor and a liar,' he muttered.

'Please, sir. Stop it. You're scaring me.'

'You _should_ be afraid!' he shouted, standing up abruptly so that he towered over her. 'You should be afraid! If you had only seen the things I have done, you – you would not be so eager to be _friends_,' he spat.

His legs began to tremble violently as he stood and they began to give way beneath him. He staggered backwards until the back of his thighs hit the edge of his chair, which he dropped heavily into.

'Get out of my sight.'

* * *

><p>'Colloportus,' he whispered, pointing his wand at the door as it banged shut behind Hermione.<p>

Severus brought his hands up to his face, shielding his features from sight. Hot tears began to seep from his eyelids, snaking their way through the gaps in his fingers and dripping on to his lap.

Seeing her and speaking to her had felt like some kind of personal torture. He could not bear her kindness or her concern after all that had happened the previous night. His shoulder and his wrist were tingling with warmth where she had touched him. Severus could not stop himself from wondering if she would have approached him with such care had she known what he had seen and done the night before.

The guilt and remorse he felt had been almost impossible to hide and anger was the only way he could prevent his true feelings from surfacing.

He wanted her to hate him.

He had stood on her neighbour's doorstep, listening to the sound of her hysterical pleads for mercy. But he had done nothing to save her. He wished that he had told her what happened. He deserved to see her expression of kindness and gentle concern twist into one of complete horror and revulsion. He deserved to hear her fury and to witness her tears of grief.

Although Severus would never admit the truth, he had enjoyed working with her; she had a genuine interest in learning and her interest in potion-making matched his own. But, despite their similarities, they were worlds apart in terms of personality and disposition. Hermione possessed nothing of his sarcastic, austere nature or his lack of sociability, on the contrary; she was affable, talkative and cheerful. Severus had never imagined that he would look forward to being in the company of the chirpy, chatty Gryffindor sixth-year.

There was no way that he could continue to assist her with her potion or her dissertation. The thought of continuing to work with her, enduring her kindness and trust while she remained blissfully unaware of what he had done (or what he had not done) made him feel disgusted to the point of nauseous. He could not accept her friendship after what he had done nor could he act as if nothing had happened. To pretend as if he knew nothing of her neighbour's death while continuing to work with her would be as bad as the actual crime itself.

He looked down at his legs and, slowly, he attempted to stand. His remorse and his fatigue and the numerous glasses of Firewhisky the night before had robbed him of his strength and his ability to stand. The bones in his knees had turned to rubber, incapable of supporting his body. Grabbing onto the table edge for support, he pulled his reluctant body into a standing position and headed towards the door leading to his private quarters.

He reached the fireplace and the pot of Floo powder that rested on top of the mantelpiece.

'Albus,' he called into the green flames, after throwing a handful of the green-coloured powder into the fireplace. 'I want a word.'

Seconds later, the tall frame of Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the green fire, ducking his head to allow his hat to fit through the fireplace.

'Severus,' he said, brushing the ash from his emerald robes. 'What's happened?' he asked urgently, staring at the man with his piercing, blue eyes.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher sank heavily into one of the chairs in his living room before opening his mouth to explain.

'I want Horace to take my place as Miss Granger's mentor,' he said bluntly.

The Headmaster did not speak and continued to stare at him with an inscrutable expression on his face.

'It is too much,' muttered Severus quickly. 'I have lessons to plan, classes to teach..._duties_ to carry out, along with many other things. I simply do not have the time to continue with –'

'Tell me the truth, Severus,' stated the Headmaster, who had not shifted his stare from the wizard sitting before him. 'Is this sudden change of mind a result of last night's events?'

Professor Snape dropped his gaze to the floor and wrung his hands.

'How can you expect me to work with her and act as if nothing has changed?' he began in a low growl. 'I listened to her neighbour die. We destroyed her home and that of the old woman! I stood back and watched as he murdered an innocent Muggle and set both houses ablaze. How can I –'

'You have watched many, innocent people die, Severus. She was not the first and she will not be the last. Neither will you be the last to witness the killing of innocent people before this war is over.'

Severus glared at the Headmaster.

'You are almost as cold as him.'

'I do not wish to remind you, Severus, but you _made_ a choice. You are to blame for the position you currently find yourself in. If I were you, I would try to consider the situation positively...Without you, how many more would die?'

'But, how can I look her in the eye and pretend as if I had no part in it all? What will happen when she learns that her home is in ruins and her neighbour is dead? How will she react when she knows that it was me who stood back and let it all happen? I will not lie to her.'

'Then, do not lie to her. Tell her the truth, Severus,' said the Headmaster, scrutinising him over his spectacles. 'She will find out eventually and I think she would rather hear it from you. Miss Granger owes you the lives of her parents and she would be delusional to think that we can make it through this war unscathed. These are dark times and there will be losses to both sides. You cannot bury your head in the sand. What do you hope to achieve by ending your lessons with her? Ignoring her and refusing to mentor her will not bring you any peace nor will it make it less painful for her. She respects you a great deal, Severus –'

'I do not think she will _respect_ me when she learns of my cowardice and the fact that I did nothing to save –'

'Miss Granger knows of your role within the Order, Severus. Naturally, she will be devastated to hear about the destruction of her home and the death of an innocent woman, but she will not hold you accountable. I do not think that she would allow her rationality to be clouded by grief. She would rather hear about it from your mouth than through the _Daily Prophet_,' said Albus firmly at he looked at man before him, whose eyes were glistening in the dim light.

Severus turned his gaze to look at the floor.

'Will you ask Horace?'

'No, Severus, I will not.'

* * *

><p>Hermione could barely manage more than a few mouthfuls of her steak pie at dinner that evening.<p>

Lavender had not appeared all day and so she was wedged between Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table as if nothing had changed over the previous months. But she could not summon up the ability to participate in their conversation. She avoided looking at the High Table and the dark shadow of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as she placed her cutlery on the table.

Ron made a choking sound beside her.

'What was that, Ronald?'

'I said, are you going to finish that?' he repeated, nodding to her plate.

Hermione pushed her dinner towards him with her fingertips.

'Help yourself,' she muttered with a small, exasperated smile. Ron eagerly shovelled Hermione's dinner into his open mouth, while Harry poured over the Marauder's Map that lay on his lap. She made to rise from the table, until she heard someone approach from behind.

'Miss Granger?'

Hermione heard a rustle of robes and the sound of a clear, crisp voice behind her. Holding her breathe, hardly daring to believe that the voice belonged to him, she turned around on the bench to face the person standing at her back.

Professor Snape towered over her as she sat and he seemed to have returned to his usual health. His expression was blank, but he kept his eyes rooted to her face, unlike that morning, when he had refused to even make eye-contact with her.

'Follow me,' he said in a grave tone. Without waiting for her to respond, he began to stride towards the doors of the Great Hall and Hermione had to jog to catch up with him.

He did not speak until they had reached his classroom in the dungeons, where he sat in Neville's usual seat. Hermione stood uncertainly at the door; she was unsure of whether he wanted her to sit in her usual seat, which was situated right next to Neville's, or whether he wanted her to sit elsewhere.

'Sit,' he said, gesturing to the seat in front of him. Hermione sighed in relief, as the decision was taken out of her hands, and stepped towards her chair.

They were sitting so close together that their knees were bumping against each other. Hermione rarely sat so close to him; during their evenings together, they worked at opposite ends of the table. However, now that she was sitting closer to him, she could see his features up close in detail.

When she thought of him in her mind, she had exaggerated several aspects of his appearance. In her mind, his eyes were smaller and darker compared to the reality and his skin was slightly darker than she pictured in her imagination. He was not so ghostly pale; on the contrary his complexion tinged with a fair shade of peach. She was so absorbed in her scrutiny of his facial features that she did not notice his expression of anxiety.

'There is something that I and the Headmaster feel you should know,' he said softly. His eyes were wide and glinting slightly in the dim light of the classroom.

Hermione felt her heart thump faster and louder as she kept her gaze fixed to his own.

'It relates to the events that took place last night.'

'Go on,' she whispered.

'You – you are aware that the Dark Lord has been scheming an attack on your family for some time now as a means of getting to Potter...Last night, he – he decided to _try_ to put that plan into action and so…'

Hermione's heart thudded loudly and painfully in her chest as he described the details of the previous night. She was struggling to breathe properly and she felt hot tears collect in her eyes. His voice was low as he spoke but his eyes maintained none of the coldness or hardness that they had held that morning during their conversation.

She could tell that he wanted to break their eye contact, especially as the tears had begun to flow freely down her face. But his eyes continued to look upon her as he continued to speak.

'I – I am sorry, Miss Granger,' he murmured once he had reached the end of his tale. Eventually, he turned his face away from her and pointed his eyes at the floor.

Hermione shook her head and used the length of her index finger to stem the flow of tears coursing down her face. A soft sob escape her lips and she ducked her head to hide her emotion. His eyes were full of hurt as he looked at her and he tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder.

The weight of his hand on her shoulder was comforting and Hermione did not raise her head for fear that he would remove it. Shock coursed through her as she tried to process the information that he had given her. Her neighbour was dead and her house, which had been her home since she was a little girl, had been reduced to ashes. All her belongings and keepsakes had vanished into thick, black smoke. The thought made the tears flow thicker and faster down her face.

Her pain was overwhelming but as her mind absorbed the news, she realised how much worse it could have been. She was relatively lucky from the point of view that they had been able to protect her parents. They would be crushed to learn that their beautiful house had been burned to the ground. But they were alive and, in times of war, to be alive was a blessing.

It was impossible to judge how long they sat there for. Professor Snape continued to grasp her shoulder as Hermione mulled over the news he had given her.

'To think that it could've been much worse...' she murmured. 'Thank you.'

'Do not thank me, Miss Granger. I do not deserve it,' he said quietly, rising from Neville's chair.

Hermione rose and stepped towards him, staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

'A burnt house is a small price to pay, sir. You cannot blame yourself for every death,' she replied.

He turned his back on her so she would not see the emotion welling within him. Hermione stared at his back as he walked towards his desk.

'Your parents should be informed,' he said in a low voice.

'Yes – yes, I think they ought to know.'

She saw his head nod in response and he turned on the spot to face her.

'Very well, come with me,' he said, stepping towards the classroom door.

Her hands smoothed her cheeks, sweeping her tears into her hair as she looked at him in bewilderment.

'Sir? I don't understand…I thought you meant that someone from the Order would tell them…or – or, perhaps, an owl –'

'Come along, Miss Granger,' he said, holding the door open for her.

She followed him up the staircase leading to the Entrance Hall and outside towards the Apparition point.

The sky outside had darkened in spite of the hour and a layer of frost was beginning to settle on the Hogwarts' grounds. During the month of January, the sun began to set at four o'clock in the afternoon.

'Take hold of me,' he instructed her, proffering his right arm and Hermione braced herself for Apparition.

Blazing sunlight obstructed their vision as they arrived at their destination. The sun was high in the azure-coloured sky and they appeared to be standing on a tall cliff, overlooking a deep sea whose waves rushed towards the bottom of the precipice.

Squinting in the harsh sunlight, Hermione looked around her, absorbing their surroundings. Her heavy school robes felt uncomfortable and heavy in the scorching sunlight but it was pleasant to feel the heat of the sun. The weather told her that they were far away from Hogwarts, where winter continued to reign.

Warm fingers curled around her wrist and Professor Snape pulled her gently towards the edge of the cliff. Her eyes could not discern anything but she watched curiously as he withdrew his wand from his sleeve and began to trace patterns in the air with it. After a few seconds, he extended his hand and his fingers curled around an invisible shape in the air.

Drawing his elbow back, he stood to the side to allow Hermione to walk in front of him. She peeped her head around his body and saw that he had opened, what seemed to be, an invisible door. Her eyes could discern part of a small kitchen through the open doorway and she realised a house was concealed beneath the invisibility charm.

'In you go,' he murmured gently, placing a hand on the small of her back. Hermione swallowed heavily as she entered the invisible house.

'Are you coming in with me?' she asked, looking at him anxiously.

Professor Snape shook his head.

'I shall wait outside for you. I do not want to intrude,' he replied.

'But, you wouldn't be intruding, I –' she said earnestly.

'Hermione!' cried a female voice. 'Oh my goodness! Hermione!'

Professor Snape smiled slightly before closing the door to the house. On the other side of the door, he could hear incredulous voices and the sound of joyful exclamations. After all that he had done, he felt glad that he could give her the one thing she needed most.

He ambled towards the very edge of the cliff and looked into the sea. The waves crashed gently against the grey cliff and the rocks protruding from the blue depths.

The only audible sound came from the whistling of the wind and the waves of the sea.

After an hour of silence, Professor Snape heard a small voice and the opening of a creaky door.

'Sir?'

He looked around to see Hermione peering around the door-frame.

'I'm ready to go,' she said as she closed the invisible door behind her. Her face was dry, but her eyelashes were damp and clung together.

'How were they?'

'Shocked, I think, but they told me that they had expected something like this to happen when you turned up on their doorstep several months ago. They are grateful to you for your help.'

He nodded

'Thank you so much for taking me to see them,' she murmured softly as they walked to the Apparition point.

He swallowed thickly.

'You are welcome.'


	17. Chapter Seventeen

'How on earth am I going to ask him?'

'I dunno, mate…' replied Ron unhelpfully, shrugging his shoulders.

'I mean…I can't just walk up to him and _ask_ him for the memory…There must be a way to convince him,' said Harry glumly.

'Yeah, I wonder why Dumbledore couldn't get it himself. He's the most powerful wizard in the world…'

'I don't think power has anything to do with it, Ronald,' said Hermione as she plopped herself onto the bench next to Harry. 'You're the only one who can make him see how important it is to retrieve that memory.'

'Where have you been?' asked Ron nosily as his eyes widened to the size of saucers. 'You disappeared into thin air after dinner yesterday! We waited up for ages, didn't we, Harry?'

'I –' she faltered. Hermione swithered about telling them of the devastating news that she had learned the previous day. She could not bear to listen to their accusations and suspicions surrounding Snape. Not after everything that he had done to help her and her family.

The boys continued to stare at her anxiously and Hermione realised that she had no choice in the matter. Despite their faults and their occasional bouts of stupidity, they were her friends and she knew that she owed it to them. After all of the secrets that they had entrusted to her over the years, it would be a blow to their friendship to keep something of this magnitude a secret.

'What happened?' asked Ron quietly as he stared at her worriedly.

Silence followed her tale and the two boys looked at her with mixed expressions of sympathy and horror.

'I'm so sorry, Hermione,' whispered Harry after several minutes of silence. The Great Hall was buzzing with students and several hundred conversations but, to the three of them, the hall might as well have been empty.

'It could have been much worse,' said Hermione with a shrug. 'That poor woman, though...She must have been terrified.'

'Were you close with her?'

She shrugged in response. The elderly woman had babysat Hermione on many occasions when she was younger. Mrs Wallace was a Scottish widow, who had moved from Edinburgh to London after the death of her husband, but her strong Scottish brogue had not diminished in her years of living in England. Hermione recalled the Scottish treats that her neighbour would frequently bake for her; the crumbling texture of shortbread biscuits, the sweet, sugary taste of tablet and the coconut flakes from the macaroon bars that got caught in her teeth. The corners of her mouth quirked upwards into a small smile as she remembered the afternoons she had spent with the old woman.

Harry and Ron watched her as she pulled the plate of fried eggs towards her and piled a couple of them onto her plate before turning towards the plate of potato scones. After a few mouthfuls, Hermione felt a small shred of contentment spread through her as the hot food reached her stomach.

'So…' she said finally, breaking the silence that had erupted between the trio. 'Slughorn. Any ideas, Harry?'

Harry shook his head glumly.

'None,' he replied, running his hands through his bedraggled hair. 'I don't know how to approach him. Should I ask him outright or is it a case of…tricking him? I really don't know…'

'Did Dumbledore tell you why he wanted _you_ to do it?' asked Ron, impaling a mushroom with his fork. 'I mean…you're only sixteen – no offence, mate – but I don't see how you can convince Slughorn to give you that memory when even Dumbledore hasn't managed to get it off him –'

'Dumbledore has great faith in you, Harry, and he's right, you _can_ do it,' said Hermione encouragingly. 'You just need to be clever about it.'

'There must be a way to trick him,' said Ron.

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but their table was suddenly cast into shadow.

Ron's face instantly darkened as he looked up at the figure standing over them.

'Hey, Lav,' he squeaked fearfully, looking up at her. Her hands were resting on her hips and her spine was straightened in an attempt to make herself look taller and more intimidating. Her face was looked peaky and pale, but it was heavily lined with anger as she glowered at Ron. 'How – how are you feeling, this morning? I – I was going to come and see you, but Parvati said you were in bed.'

He rose from his seat and scurried around the table towards her with open arms. She looked at him disdainfully and ignored his attempts to embrace her.

'_Why_ is she sitting with you?' she snarled between gritted teeth.

'I – er –' Ron mumbled something incoherent as he nervously scratched the back of his neck. Lavender's sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion as she scrutinised him.

'Ron,' she began dangerously, 'where is your Christmas present? You told me that you would wear it all the time.'

Lavender's blue eyes were full of anger and resentment as she scowled at him, waiting for his response.

'I – I took it off yesterday before Quidditch practice, d – didn't I, Harry?' he said, turning to Harry for confirmation. 'It gets caught when I'm flying…I – I forgot to put it back on…Don't worry, though! I'll go back to the dormitory and get it!'

'Don't bother,' she hissed before turning away from him. The three of them watched her scurry towards the doors of the Great Hall, wailing into her palms.

Slumping heavily onto the bench, Ron pushed his breakfast plate away from him as he stared morosely at the table.

'I think you're meant to go after her, Ron,' suggested Hermione timidly as she watched Lavender sob noisily.

'I dunno how much more I can take of this,' he muttered, leaning his elbows against the surface of the table.

'Maybe you should just end it, mate,' suggested Harry quietly. 'There's no point leading her on if you don't like her anymore.'

Ron seemed not to have heard him as he contemplated the plate of tomatoes resting near Harry's porridge bowl. The trio were silent until they began to make their way towards the Potions classroom.

'You're right,' mumbled Ron eventually. 'I think I'll speak to her tonight…If I get the chance.'

'Good,' said Harry, nodding in approval.

'Morning, all!' cried Professor Slughorn, clapping his hands briskly. 'Get out your textbooks, please. Today, we shall be looking at page forty-five!' he boomed loudly as he rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. The corners of his thick moustache turned upwards as he beamed at the class, who began to flick through their textbooks to the requested page. 'Garrotting potion! Can anyone tell me what this potion produces – apart from a choking effect upon its drinker?'

'Garrotting gas,' replied Hermione instantly.

'Correct, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor,' said Slughorn, beaming at her. He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rolled onto the balls of his feet. 'While this potion is not lethal, it can lead to a very sticky situation if too much of the potion – or its gas – is consumed or inhaled. I do not think it likely that Garrotting potion shall feature in your examination, but it's a tricky little potion to make and it is good practise for later on in the term, when we shall tackle some truly, challenging potions.'

He pulled his wand from his robes and charmed a box, containing masks of different shapes and sizes, to float along the desks.

'The choking effect can last from anywhere between a couple of minutes to an hour. However, in the event of an overdose, the drinker or inhaler will most likely die by suffocation –'

'That's encouraging,' muttered an aghast Ron.

'– and that is why I am issuing you all with a mask to prevent any of you from drawing in its noxious fumes, Mr Wheatley.'

'Weasley, sir,' Ron corrected him.

Slughorn did not seem to have heard him as he began to divide the class into pairs.

'Ah, the dream team,' he said genially, clapping his hands together. 'Mr Potter and Miss Granger. Yes, I look forward to seeing what the pair of you will come up with.'

Hermione edged closer to Harry as she adjusted her mask to cover her nose and mouth.

'As for you, Mr Wheatley, you can work with Mr Finnigan,' said Professor Slughorn, who had discovered Seamus' aptitude for creating minor explosions.

'We're not using your book, Harry,' muttered Hermione beneath her mask.

'Why not?' he hissed back at her.

'You know _why_ – it's cheating!'

'Fine, do it your way,' retorted Harry angrily, taking a step back from the desk.

Hermione rolled her eyes and began to work on the potion, reading the instructions from her textbook word by word. Harry huffed impatiently by her side, glaring at her over folded arms.

'It's meant to be colourless,' Harry chimed in, after she had added all of the ingredients. 'You've made it green.'

'It's getting lighter!' she insisted. 'I imagine it'll lose its colour with additional stirs...'

Harry snorted.

'Come, now, Mr Potter! You can't leave Miss Granger to do all the work!' said Professor Slughorn with a wink as he strolled past their desk.

'Hermione! We've got twenty minutes until we pack up and the potion's still_ green_!'

'I did everything the book said! I followed the instructions perfectly –'

'Well, I can't bloody well show him _this_,' he said, gesturing to the cauldron full of green gunge. 'How am I meant to get that memory from him if I present him with this muck?'

'You don't need to ask him at this exact, moment in time, Harry!' snapped Hermione. 'Either way, I'm not letting you use that book.'

Harry ignored her and reached into his school bag for his textbook.

'Put it back!' she hissed at him, but her warning fell on deaf ears as he flicked to the page on Garrotting potion.

'See, here! The Prince says you've stirred the potion too many times...'

Hermione squinted at the page. The handwriting, although small and barely legible, seemed familiar, but she could not figure out where she had seen it before.

'Give me it,' she said, reaching forward to snatch the book from him.

'Apparently, you only need a few stirs and the potion turns lighter on its own. Repetitive stirring slows the colour change and minimises the effectiveness of the potion,' he continued. 'We need to start again.'

'No, we don't,' she insisted, grabbing hold of the book's spine, but Harry's grip was firm.

'Let go, Hermione.'

'No! We're not following your precious Prince's instructions –'

'_Hermione_! It's going to rip!'

'Well, put it down!'

'Will you stop?'

'No! We're not going to _cheat_.'

Despite Hermione's hold over the book, it was Harry's strong, Seeker's grasp that won their tussle. Hermione had been focusing all of her strength on pulling the book from Harry's grip that, when he finally succeeded in taking it from her, her hands flew backwards, knocking her mask clean off her face.

'Hermione, your mask!' cried Harry in alarm.

Hermione watched as the mask skidded across the floor of the classroom, but before she could move she felt a thick, tickly air enter her lungs. It felt as if she had inhaled an enormous pile of dust and the coughs were wrenched painfully from her body.

Her throat throbbed as she continued to choke loudly. Her hands went to her throat as she tried to ease the sensation.

'Oh, dear, Miss Granger!' exclaimed Slughorn. He hurried forward to retrieve her mask and, hastily, slipped it over her face.

But she had already inhaled a great deal of gas and the mask only made her coughing worse. With trembling fingers, she ripped it from her face and bent over, retching and coughing as she did.

'Take the potion off the heat!' ordered Slughorn and Harry hastily extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron of Garrotting potion. 'I think I'd better take Miss Granger to the hospital wing. Can you walk, Miss Granger?'

He worriedly scratched the bald spot on his head as Hermione nodded mid-cough and staggered towards the door. Slughorn hurried to help her.

'Will she be OK, sir?' asked Ron, who had turned pale with shock.

'She'll be fine,' said Slughorn, hooking an arm around Hermione's waist. 'She didn't inhale too much, but Madam Pomfrey will have something to lift the effects immediately...Class dismissed!'

The last thing Hermione noticed was the approaching figures of Harry and Ron as they came to Slughorn's aid before she passed out .

* * *

><p>'Garrotting gas?' she heard a familiar voice repeat. Hermione did not fail to miss the scornful tone in his voice.<p>

'Yes, I –'

'I don't remember that being part of the syllabus, Horace,' continued Professor Snape.

'Yes, but they were wearing _masks_, Severus. I had hoped...I didn't think –'

'Well, _that_ is obvious.'

'Excuse me, Professors, I must see to my patient.'

Hermione opened her eyes to see the lined face of Madam Pomfrey gazing at her and let out a groan.

After spending several weeks in the hospital wing, subsequent to the battle in the Ministry of Magic the previous year, she had no desire to remain bedridden in the chamber that reeked of medicinal potions and sickness. Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn were standing on either side of her mattress as they looked down at her.

Madam Pomfrey began busying herself with checking Hermione's temperature and heart-rate and Harry and Ron sat side-by-side at the foot of her bed.

'How are you feeling, Miss Granger?' asked Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione nodded as she gently squeezed her throat with her hand. It felt tender and swollen beneath her fingertips.

'I'm OK,' she croaked. 'I didn't think I inhaled that much, I don't know why I fainted.'

Professor Slughorn opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Professor Snape.

'It is impossible to remain conscious for more than a few minutes after inhaling Garrotting gas...'

'But it wasn't brewed properly, our's was green...' said Hermione, pondering aloud.

'As I said at the start of the lesson, Miss Granger, it's a difficult potion to brew...Very few get it right first time...' explained Slughorn.

'It was potent enough to make you almost choke to death,' interjected Madam Pomfrey sternly.

'Really, Poppy!' insisted Slughorn. 'I would not encourage my students to brew anything _lethal_, especially not in my classroom.'

She glared at him, before turning towards the night-stand.

'Drink this, Miss Granger,' she commanded, thrusting a glass into her hand. It was full to the brim with a honey-coloured liquid. 'It will alleviate the pain in your throat and should flush out any of the lingering toxins.'

Professor Snape examined her coolly as she drank from the glass, before he edged towards the end of the bed.

'Glad to see that you're feeling better, Miss Granger,' he said briskly, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders.

'Thank you, sir.'

'I must return to my classroom...Horace, a word, if you please.'

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed as they hovered over the Potions Master.

The hairs of Slughorn's moustache bristled before he reluctantly nodded his consent and toddled along behind the billowing robes of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'Take care, Miss Granger,' Slughorn called over his shoulder as he waddled. 'I shall see the three of you tomorrow.'

'You are to stay here for another hour,' said Madam Pomfrey, addressing Hermione, after the doors of the hospital wing closed behind the two teachers. 'I want to make sure that the coughing has completely subsided.'

'Can Harry and Ron stay?' asked Hermione beseechingly.

'Only if their teachers have no objections,' replied the matron as she hurried over to the neighbouring bed.

'It's Flitwick, anyway,' muttered Ron. 'He's a big softie.'

'What was Professor Snape doing here?' asked Hermione curiously, trying to keep the eager tone out of her voice.

'He saw us helping you to the hospital wing and he wanted to know what happened.'

'Slughorn didn't seem too happy...'

'No wonder, Snape went right through him! He was furious when he heard that Slughorn got us to brew Garrotting potion.'

'I don't think he meant for any harm to come to anyone,' said Hermione with a slight hiccup.

'Yeah,' agreed Ron. 'How did your mask fall off, anyway?'

Hermione looked at Harry, who, rather sheepishly, turned his head to the side.

'We were fighting over the Prince's book,' explained Hermione. 'I tried to grab it from Harry and I knocked my mask off in the process.'

'Ah, I see,' said Ron, struggling to conceal his grin.

'It wasn't funny,' insisted Hermione, who had also began to smile. 'I was serious. I refuse to look at that book!'

'Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,' said Harry. 'If you had just looked at his instructions, you wouldn't have ended up in the hospital wing.'

'Shame you didn't get to speak to Slughorn,' said Ron quickly, sensing the beginnings of an argument.

'Yeah...'

'What were you planning on saying to him?' asked Hermione.

'I – I hadn't thought that far ahead,' muttered Harry lamely. 'I was just going to ask him.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

'If it was just a case of _asking_ him for it, I don't think Dumbledore would have needed your help in getting it,' said Hermione. 'The memory obviously contains something shameful or embarrassing, otherwise, Slughorn wouldn't be so reluctant to hand it over.'

'Then, how do I persuade him to give it to me?'

'You need to make him feel that he can trust you and that he can confide in you. It's got nothing to do with being good at Potions or producing amazing results and if you keep using that book, Harry, you're not doing anything honest or trustworthy,' she said reprovingly.

'You just want him to give up the Prince's book so that you can go back to being the best at Potions,' said Ron with a smirk.

Hermione scowled at him.

'I'll give it some thought,' said Harry as he absent-mindedly tapped his wand against his knee. 'I'll try again tomorrow.'

The three of them sat in silence until Madam Pomfrey scurried over to Hermione's bedside. She placed her hands on either side of her neck, feeling her throat and examining the inside of her mouth.

'The redness has gone down and your glands do not feel as swollen as they were,' announced Madam Pomfrey, stepping away from the bed. 'But I think you should return to your dormitory and get some rest. Mr Potter and Mr Weasley shall inform your teachers of your absence.'

'Thank you,' said Hermione as she wriggled out of the hospital bed.

'See you later, Hermione,' they said as they parted ways outside the hospital wing.

Hermione felt slightly relieved at the chance to steal some extra sleep as she trudged towards Gryffindor Tower. The last few days had been mentally and emotionally exhausting and, no matter how much sleep she got at night, it did not seem to be enough.

* * *

><p>The maroon coloured curtains that framed the window were pulled back slightly to reveal a thin strip of the dark sky outside. Hermione's eyelids snapped open as she felt something warm and heavy sink into her mattress by her feet.<p>

Parvati Patil's voice was soothing and kind as she brushed the hair away from Hermione's forehead with her palm.

'Hermione, are you alright?' she asked. Her dark brown eyes were wide with concern.

Hermione nodded before stretching her hand towards the night-stand for her watch. It was seven o'clock; dinner had finished in the Great Hall and the Gryffindors would have returned to the common room. Her throat felt slightly scratchy, but the urge to cough had left her entirely.

'Harry's downstairs and he asked me to come up here and check on you...He said something about gas that you'd inhaled...'

'Oh, it was nothing,' she muttered. 'I'm fine, now.'

'Are you sure?' asked Parvati.

'Yeah, I'd better go down and see him,' murmured Hermione, rising from her mattress. Her head felt cloudy with sleep and fatigue. In truth, Hermione felt no great desire to leave the comfort of her bed, but she did not want to worry him with her absence.

Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she planted her feet on the carpet and rose to a standing position. She combed her hair with her hands and her fingers caught painfully in the deep tangles and knots. She had not changed out of her school robes, which were now crumpled and creased after sleeping in them.

Her fingers straightened her uniform as best as she could before heading towards the door of the girls' dormitory.

As she descended the stairs towards the common room, she spied Harry sitting alone in an armchair by the fire.

'Hey, Harry,' she said, lowering herself into the chair next to him. She crossed her arms to cover the creases in her clothes.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, folding a piece of parchment, which looked suspiciously similar to the Marauder's Map, and cramming it into his pocket. 'How is your throat?'

'Better,' she replied. 'Did I miss anything at dinner?'

He shook his head.

'Dumbledore wasn't around, but, then again, that's nothing special these days. Slughorn stopped by the table to ask how you were. He feels terrible...I bet Snape gave him a right bollocking when he took him outside.'

'I don't see why...We've dealt with worse things in the classroom before. Slughorn's lessons hardly come up to scratch with those of Barty Crouch,' said Hermione with a shudder. The Death Eater had posed as Mad-Eye Moody during their fourth year and had exposed them to the three Unforgivable curses.

'True...I just hope he's in a good mood tomorrow. I don't imagine that Dumbledore will be best pleased if I turn up for our next lesson without that memory.'

'Have you thought of what you're going to say?'

Harry shook his head.

'Ron's suggestions were less than helpful,' he said, rubbing his face wearily with his hand. 'He suggested I bribe him...'

'Dare I ask, where he is?' asked Hermione, craning her neck as she studied the students splayed around the common room.

'He's – er – over there,' he said, nodding over her shoulder, 'with Lavender.'

Turning around in her seat, Hermione peered over the back of her chair and saw Ron and Lavender intertwined in an armchair, kissing ferociously. His hands were buried in her hair, holding her neck, while her hands seemed to be travelling down from his shoulders to his wrists, but they did not stop their downward journey.

'That was the wrong moment to turn around,' said Hermione, shuddering in disgust. 'What were you saying?'

'Ron suggested I try to offer him something in return for the memory...'

'Like what?'

Harry shrugged.

'A bottle of mead or a box of crystallised pineapple – he likes that.'

'I think it will take a lot more than shop-bought goods...'

'What about a potion? Or some kind of enchantment?'

Hermione's face screwed up in doubt.

'Even then, I think Dumbledore meant for _you_ to do it alone. Without the use of magical spells or potions or anything...'

'But, how can I get him to trust me?'

'Get to know him...Let him get to know you! It might take you several shots, but you can do it.'

'I'll ask him tomorrow after class…I'm just not sure how he'll react –'

'I doubt he'll be in very good spirits when you ask him…' she warned him. 'If he won't give it freely to Dumbledore, there's a high chance he'll react very badly when he realises that you know of the memory's existence. It won't be easy, Harry.'

'I know, I know,' he muttered darkly, staring at his hands. The sound of a girl's laughter caused Harry's head to snap upwards and his eyes widened as he watched Ginny and Dean enter the common room.

Hermione looked at him sadly as his eyes followed Ginny. Dean was holding her hand and laughing loudly at a joke that Ginny had whispered in his ear. Hermione sighed heavily and patted his knee.

'You should go to bed,' she suggested gently. 'You'll need your wits about you if you're going to speak to Slughorn tomorrow.'

'Yeah, you're right…' he muttered before rising from the armchair. 'I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Hermione.'

'Goodnight, Harry.'

'Hiccoughing solution!' Professor Slughorn announced after the students had settled in their seats. 'Have no fear, there'll be no accidents today. This is a rather funny, little potion!'

'I wonder what his definition of 'funny' is...' whispered Ron.

'Turn to page fifty-five, if you please.'

The Potions Master whistled cheerily through his teeth as he began to rummage through the drawers of his desk, while the class opened their textbooks.

'Looks like he might be in a good mood,' muttered Ron out of the corner of his mouth. 'It might be worth catching him at the end of the lesson.'

Harry nodded in agreement as his eyes flickered between the Prince's Potions textbook and the jovial wizard standing at the front of the classroom. Hermione had forgotten all about the Prince but her face darkened as she looked at the graffitied pages and glowered at the textbook.

'Harry,' she began calmly. 'When are you going to hand that book back?'

'Hand it _back_?' asked Ron incredulously. 'Why on earth would he do that? The Prince is a genius!'

'It's dangerous!' she hissed vehemently as she gave the textbook a withering look.

'Yeah, only when you try to grab it off me and we're in the vicinity of Garrotting gas!' he retorted.

'I wasn't referring to that – I was talking about the _Levicorpus_ spell that you used on Ron!'

'Pfft, come off it, Hermione,' Ron scoffed as he opened his own textbook. 'It was hardly dangerous.'

'Hermione, you know that I need to get that memory off of him! I need to butter him up,' insisted Harry.

Hermione sniffed and turned away from him. Her resolve to help Harry acquire Slughorn's memory may have strengthened but she did not condone cheating in the slightest. There was something suspicious about the Prince and there was no way that the old textbook could help Harry change Slughorn's mind. It was a matter of _convincing_ the Potions Master to relinquish the memory. The old wizard was far too experienced to be tricked by magic or potions. She thought back to the familiarity of the hand-writing and she tried to peer over Harry's shoulder to get another look at the scribble, but he had moved the book far out of her reach or vision. She racked her brains, wondering where she recognised it from.

The lesson passed quickly and her irritation with the Prince was soon wiped from her mind.

She always underestimated the therapeutic qualities of potion-making and its power of distraction. Her mind remained undisturbed by unpleasant memories or thoughts, throughout the entire lesson, as she measured, chopped and stirred.

Hermione ignored Harry as he buried his head in the graffitied pages. She did not speak to him throughout the entire lesson and merely grunted when he asked to borrow her knife.

'Oho! Jolly good, Miss Granger,' announced Professor Slughorn loudly, at the end of the lesson, as he examined the contents of Hermione's cauldron. 'An excellent attempt'.

Hermione could not suppress the rush of disappointment that she felt at the word 'attempt'; she had followed the textbook's instructions to a tee. It was frustrating and upsetting that she could not excel in the subject that she had chosen to pursue a career in.

Despite her hard work, she had failed to truly impress Slughorn. Hermione could not help but wonder what had caused her abilities to fade. She felt overshadowed by Harry's unfair success, nevertheless, that did not explain why her work was merely 'an excellent attempt'.

Over the previous months, she had endured many hardships and suffered tragic news but she did not see how that had any connection to her academic abilities.

It was difficult having to adjust to a new teacher and Slughorn's teaching methods differed greatly from those of Professor Snape.

In spite of the sense of dread that she had frequently experienced before Potions lessons, during her previous years at Hogwarts, Hermione found herself missing the old Potions Master more than ever. In his dungeon classroom, the walls had been lined with rows of jars, holding curious and bizarre ingredients. The absence of windows meant that the dungeon classrooms had to be lit with enchanted candles and the glow of lit wand tips or the sparkling contents of the cauldrons. When she had first arrived at Hogwarts, the Potions classroom had seemed the most magical and enchanting place in the whole castle.

Hermione remembered the little girl that first entered Professor Snape's class six years ago. She had found him intimidating, but that had not minimised her hope of impressing him. Every other teacher had acknowledged her hard work, apart from him. If someone had told the eleven year old, back then, that she would, one day, begin to respect the Potions Master on a completely different level, the little girl would have undoubtedly ran in the opposite direction, retching along the way. However, one thing was for certain and that was the fact that the feelings she felt towards him were growing more potent with every day.

In the past, she had never truly _liked_ someone but, despite her inexperience, Hermione was fully aware of the fact that she was falling for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her insides turned to liquid when she was in his presence and, in the classroom, she worked hard solely in the hope of receiving one of his teasing smirks.

But, as well as the desire she felt towards him, he was more than a mere love object. He was a hero, a teacher and double her age and, at that moment, Hermione realised that she could not have fallen for anyone more unavailable.

Busying herself with the task of cleaning her desk, Hermione tried her hardest to block out thoughts of Professor Snape and the words of praise and admiration pouring out of Slughorn's mouth as he grinned at Harry. It was the wrong time to start contemplating her feelings.

Slughorn eventually held his hands up, signalling for the class' attention.

'For those of you in Professor Snape's class, your teacher will be absent this afternoon...'

Swallowing the dread that she felt at the word 'absent', Hermione tried to ignore the plummeting sensation in her gut.

'But, he has left instructions for you to continue your reading of the Patronus charm. He would like you all to write an essay on Patronuses, to be handed in at the start of your next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, before you begin learning the practical spell.'

An audible murmur of relief spread throughout the class at the news.

The bell rang loudly and Hermione gathered her things to rush out of the classroom.

'Miss Granger?'

Hermione turned around to face the Potions Master, who was waddling towards her. The hopeful part of Hermione anticipated greater praise on her potion. The fact that he had spent an entire ten minutes singing the praises of Harry's creation thoroughly rankled her, but she could not help but hope that she might receive some of Slughorn's admiration.

'Professor Snape asked me to tell you that he will be back this evening and has told me to ask you if you would be free to work on your potion tonight?'

She nodded her assent and smiled.

'Excellent,' he said as his eyes twinkled. 'I shall inform him upon his return.'

'Sir? I was wondering if I might speak to you...'

'Of course, Harry, m'boy! Of course!'


	18. Chapter Eighteen

A cheerfulness spread throughout the sixth-years as they made their way out of the Great Hall after their lunch break. The fact that they would not have to endure the wrath of the snarky Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for an hour had greatly lightened their moods. Hermione, however, did not share her classmates joy and felt a pang of disappointment as she followed her peers to the library.

Ron and Lavender withdrew to a secluded corner while Hermione sat alone at a table, pretending to read through her copy of the Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. But her mind strayed far from the subject of Patronuses to the far more interesting subject of Professor Snape. Hermione briefly wondered what mood she would find her mentor in. He was the most unpredictable person she had ever encountered and his Death Eater meetings sent him spinning head-first into a very dark mood. Lately, he had been nothing but affable towards her, but she suspected that his behaviour had something to do with the guilt that he felt after witnessing the death of her neighbour and the destruction of her house. It was a mark of her feelings towards him that she would rather see him angry and annoyed than wracked with guilt for something he had had no control over. For the past number of weeks, she began to feel a sense of nervous anticipation immediately before going to his classroom to work on the potion. He was a master at interpreting the thoughts and feelings of others, even without the use of Legilimency, and Hermione feared that he would soon pick up on the strength of her feelings for him.

She recalled the previous day in the hospital wing and smiled to herself. Although the truth of his visit was to reprimand Slughorn's lesson planning, Hermione remembered the way he stood by her bedside and she could not help but imagine that there was a hint of concern on his face. Hermione blushed furiously and hastily looked up from her book to ensure that no one had spotted the huge grin on her face and her glowing complexion. But the students who occupied the surrounding tables seemed completely absorbed in their work.

Harry's absence had not gone unnoticed by Hermione, who had eaten lunch by herself that afternoon. There had been no sign of him since Professor Slughorn's class and she wondered if his meeting with Slughorn had been successful. Ron, on the other hand, had not acknowledged the disappearance of his friend due to the attentions he lavished on Lavender's lips.

As she scanned the room, she noticed that Draco Malfoy was also absent. She hoped that Harry had not decided to embark on a detective mission to seek out Draco Malfoy and the reason behind his disappearances.

Harry, finally, reappeared at dinner that night in the Great Hall.

He had missed the first course and the platters of roast potatoes and pork chops had vanished by the time he arrived. Harry let out an indignant groan as he watched bowls of rhubarb crumble magically exchange places with the dishes of potatoes and meat. With a mumbled greeting in Hermione's direction, Harry pulled a bowl of dessert towards him and began to shovel spoonfuls of rhubarb crumble into his mouth.

'Where have you been?' she snapped. 'You disappeared completely after Potions. How did it go with Slughorn?

Her exasperation with him and the Prince had dissipated in the course of the day and she found herself eager to hear his news.

'Hey, guys,' said Ron, who appeared moments later. He gave them a vague smile and slid his bag from his shoulder. Hermione was relieved to see that he was Lavender-less.

'It went...badly, I might add,' replied Harry, shaking his head as he let his spoon sink into his bowl. Hermione waited for him to elaborate as Ron covered his rhubarb crumble with pouring cream. 'He knew right away that Dumbledore was behind it. You should have seen him…He was _furious_ when he realised that Dumbledore had shown me the fake memory. But he wasn't just angry, he seemed scared as well, I thought...'

'What did he say about it?'

'He totally shut down…he told me that he didn't know anything about Horcruxes.'

Harry stared bitterly into his bowl as he spoke before shovelling a spoonful of dessert into his mouth.

'That's a shame,' she said with a grimace. 'But, I _did_ warn you…It's not going to be easy, Harry. If it it's because he's ashamed of what he said or did, you need to tell him to lay his pride aside and hand over the real memory. His dignity and pride are not the only things at stake! The lives of the entire wizarding population are at risk –'

'I know,' muttered Harry, sinking his head into his open palms. He sighed softly but it sounded vaguely like a moan of despair. 'I _know_…I'm trying to think of ways to persuade him. But…I just don't know _how_ to do it and Dumbledore didn't give me any hints,' he admitted bluntly.

'It's hard, I know,' she murmured, laying a gentle hand on his elbow. 'I'll have a look in the library and see if I can find anything about Horcruxes –'

She closed her mouth as she saw someone approach out of the corner of her eye.

Lavender sat down next to Ron, who had remained silent throughout Harry and Hermione's argument. The blonde-haired Gryffindor scowled briefly at Hermione before tossing her arms around Ron's neck, causing him to choke violently on the spoon in his mouth.

'Oh, sorry, Won-Won!' she exclaimed as he withdrew the spoon that had caught in his throat. 'Are you OK?'

'Fine – fine,' he coughed, banging his fist against his chest. 'How was your day?' he asked weakly without looking up at her.

His face was bright red from choking, but his eyes were full of dejection as he listened to Lavender blether rapidly. He nodded and grunted obediently as she spoke but the boredom in his face was so blatantly apparent that Hermione wondered how Lavender could not see it. Their relationship consisted primarily of snogging and any conversation that they had seemed awkward and forced. In truth, when they were not wrapped around each other, they seemed more like two strangers, who did not know what to say to each other, as opposed to a couple. Ron agreed absent-mindedly in response to Lavender's question, but she did not seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm.

All of a sudden, her blonde head snapped around to face Hermione and her keen blue eyes did not miss Hermione's scrutiny of Ron. Hermione jumped and accidentally knocked her goblet of pumpkin juice onto the table. The orange coloured liquid began to ooze over the table and seep through the gaps in the wood.

'My sleeve!' cried Lavender in alarm as she raised the sopping sleeve of her cardigan into the air, away from further saturation. 'Is she always this clumsy?' Lavender asked in a stage whisper as Hermione hastily withdrew her wand from her robes. Muttering charms under her breathe, she began to siphon the juice from the table. Her cheeks were red and she concentrated furiously on the task to avoid looking at Lavender's mocking smirk.

'I'd better go,' muttered Hermione as she rose from the table. Her skirt was peppered with droplets of pumpkin juice and she used her robes to cover the wet spots.

'Got a meeting with Snape tonight?' asked Harry.

Hermione nodded briefly before hurrying towards the doors of the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall was deep in conversation with Professor Snape when Hermione entered his classroom. Their heads were bent together and they were muttering in grave voices.

Her bespectacled eyes flickered towards Hermione as she knocked tentatively on the door of the classroom. Professor McGonagall gave her a brief nod and a smile before continuing to talk in a serious whisper.

'I can wait outside, Professors?' suggested Hermione as she stared at her teachers hesitantly. She did not want to be accused of eavesdropping into their conversation, which, judging by their grave voices and serious expressions, was not a cheerful catch-up.

'That won't be necessary, Miss Granger. I have said all that I need to say. I shan't interrupt you any longer,' replied her Head of House as she stepped away from Professor Snape. 'Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Severus,' she added, with a kind smile, as she exited the classroom.

'It's your birthday?' asked Hermione incredulously. Her eyes widened as she looked at him. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'It was not relevant,' he replied simply. He stalked towards the store cupboard and extracted several phials from the shelves.

'But…I would have liked to have known. I haven't got you a present,' she said as she continued to look at him through her huge crestfallen eyes.

'Given your current circumstances, Miss Granger, I think that that should be the last thing you need to concern yourself with.'

She watched as Professor Snape laid the potion-brewing apparatus on her desk.

'But, we're friends. You should have told me,' she murmured as she stepped towards him.

He placed the phials onto the rack before turning to face her. He eyed her coolly as she moved closer to him.

'We shall continue working on the potion today. We still have a long way to go,' he explained as he stared at her. 'Did you bring your notes?'

Hermione nodded as she slung her school bag onto the desk.

'How old are you?' she asked interestedly as she looked up at him. Now that she looked at him, Hermione found it difficult to place an exact age on his face.

Professor Snape looked at her sternly for a moment.

'How old do you think I am?'

'I – erm –' Hermione faltered as numbers appeared in her mind's eye. 'Forty? Early forties, maybe? I don't know…'

'Forty?' he repeated icily.

Hermione gulped as she looked at his cold expression.

'I am thirty-seven, Miss Granger.'

'Oh,' she said, with a giggle. 'Well, I wasn't too far off it...Not that you look old, sir. I'm not saying that forty is old, but, just in case, you thought that that was what I was implying...'

He scowled at her before turning to face the apparatus on the desk and Hermione smirked.

'Will you be taking Apparition lessons this Saturday?' asked Professor Snape as he poured the phial of partially-brewed Amortentia into the cauldron.

'Yeah, I feel quite nervous about it though…I hate the _feeling_ of Side-Along Apparition, it's horrible,' she admitted with a shudder. 'I presume that Apparating alone feels the same?' she asked as she shuffled her notes and laid them on the table beside him.

Professor Snape nodded as he examined the substance swirling around the cauldron.

'It does create an unpleasant sensation…But you'll get used to it. It is a much more convenient way of travelling than flying or using the Floo Network,' he replied.

She moved to her right so that she was standing next to him and watched the colour change of the potion as he began to stir.

'How do you even _do_ it?' she asked curiously as she watched pink swirls appear on the surface of the mixture.

He looked thoughtful for a moment as he considered her question.

'It is…rather difficult to explain. After a while it becomes second nature…I cannot remember how it was explained to me when I learned at sixteen. You will find out on Saturday,' he said.

'Did you pass first time?'

'Naturally,' he replied self-assuredly.

'Of course, you did,' she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. His eyes glinted playfully as he smirked at her.

The smile slipped from her face as she remembered his absence that morning.

'Where were you today, by the way? Professor Slughorn told me that you were away and you weren't there during our Defence Against the Dark Arts period.'

'I'd rather not talk about it,' he said shortly.

'But –'

'No.'

Hermione bit her lip and lowered her head. She understood him well enough to know that there was no point in pushing the matter; it would only lead to an argument.

'I trust that you spent your free period wisely?' he asked crisply. She turned her face to look at him and saw that there was a playful glimmer in his eye.

'Naturally,' she said, mimicking his voice.

He gently swatted her with the ladle in his free hand.

'Watch it,' he warned her as he suppressed the smile that almost formed on his lips. Hermione grinned widely at him as she continued to tease him.

After quarter of an hour, the heat of the cauldron began to warm Hermione's face and colour her cheeks.

It was having an almost electric effect upon her hair, causing static strands to stick to her face.

Professor Snape, on the other hand, retained his usual pallor, but the cauldron's heat allowed a slight pink tinge to permeate his ghostly complexion. Thick, fragrant steam was beginning to rise from the surface of the potion and she could not stop herself from moving closer towards the potion.

Both its scent and appearance were beautiful to Hermione.

Several minutes passed and she noticed that her breathing was becoming heavy and laboured despite the fact that she had not moved for nearly twenty minutes.

As Professor Snape reached forward to pick up the ladle on the desk, his arm nudged her own causing an almost electric jolt to flow through her body. She looked up at him, but he was focused entirely on the potion and did not notice Hermione examining him.

A sense of contentment gradually started to spread through her, which she interpreted as satisfaction with the potion and the physical signs of success that it was beginning to show. Inhaling deeply, she noted with pleasure that the perfume of the potion seemed to have strengthened with the increasing number of stirs.

The potion had transformed into a soft, pearly pink colour that shimmered slightly even in the poor light of the dungeons. It reminded her of the colour of lipstick that her mother wore. To her surprise, she did not feel the twinge of pain that she usually felt when her thoughts turned to her parents. Hermione could not register any feeling at that moment; her mind was veiled by a thick, pink fog that seemed to have disconnected the link between her feelings and her thoughts.

She could not concentrate nor could she think clearly as the feeling of wooziness took hold of her. Hermione turned to Professor Snape to see if he too had noticed – and felt – the changes taking place within the cauldron.

His concentration seemed to be fixed on the number of stirs. The steam had caused his hair to stick to his cheeks, revealing his facial features and his absorbed expression. His dark eyebrows were furrowed together giving the impression that he was angry. But his eyes were engrossed in the potion and Hermione knew that his expression was one of total concentration and not of anger.

Several lines creased his pale skin as he focused and, for some bizarre reason, she felt the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkles with her fingers.

Her hand felt numb as she extended her arm and brought her fingertips to his cheek, which she brushed with the softest of touches. Her touch was so gentle that he did not seem to notice her hand at first. Hermione stroked a silky strand of hair that clung to his cheek with her thumb as her fingers lightly caressed his face.

His head turned jerkily to look at her and confusion glittered in his eyes as he stared at her.

'Your hair,' she murmured softly in explanation. 'It's stuck to your cheek.'

Her voice was soft and dreamlike. She was mesmerised by the texture and appearance of his skin; the smooth, pale, marble-like appearance of his cheek, but also the slight roughness caused by the daily use of a razor.

An image appeared in her mind's eye of a steel razor running down his pale, soapy cheeks; his concentration focused on the task at hand so as to not mar the flawless, pale skin of his face.

Hermione imagined the steam from the shower, trapped in his white tiled bathroom, snaking its way seductively around his exposed torso. The steam from the potion added a sense of reality to her daydream. The soap covering his cheeks began to drip from his chin onto his bare chest…

The sensual picture vanished as Professor Snape coughed loudly. The colour in his face looked more pronounced than ever as he gaped at her in bewilderment. He stepped backwards as if suddenly aware of the impropriety of their proximity.

He continued to look at her curiously as Hermione covered her flaming cheeks with her hands. She too felt bewildered at the sudden burst of lust that she had experienced. Her brain began to clear, allowing her to think normally again, as her cheeks continued to burn with humiliation and embarrassment.

She made to step backwards away from him, but, as she moved her foot backwards, her ankle banged against the table leg, causing her to lurch towards him. Hermione gave a small shriek of fright as she collided with his chest, grazing her chin on the rough material of his frockcoat. Instinctively, he raised both hands and grabbed her arms to steady her.

Once she righted herself, Hermione raised her eyes slowly until her gaze rested upon his cheekbones. Embarrassment rendered her incapable of looking him in the eye.

The vapour from the cauldron began to swirl around them and the pink steam made it easy for them to forget that they were standing inside a dingy classroom in the dungeons. The only thing that Hermione was aware of was the fact that he had not let go of her arms. The scent of the rosy vapour was powerful as it seemed to enter Hermione's brain, clouding her thoughts with pink steam and preventing her from unpeeling herself from his grip.

Instantly, she was brought back to her steamy, bathroom daydream. In her mind, the man standing before her was stripped of his black, buttoned frock coat as frothy soap trickled down his naked torso.

She pushed her body against him as her mind became fuzzy and unfocused, filling with various images of her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her eyes remained fixed on the lower part of his face; she did not want to see the rejection in his eyes. But, while her brain became consumed with fantasies, Hermione remained fully aware of the warmth of his hands covering her arms and the heat of his body.

Hermione had lost all control of her body and, apparently, so had he. She had expected him to push her away, but, if anything, his grip seemed to be tightening. Her hands slid around his back pulling him towards her as she inhaled deeply, savouring the scent that clung to his robes and the fragrant mist surrounding them.

Part of her brain was registering confusion and alarm as she pulled him towards her but that part was slowly being enveloped by the pink mist until it was gone from her mind. She rubbed her cheek against his robes, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath the material as her hands held his back tightly.

All of a sudden, he lowered his head so his lips brushed the outer shell of her ear and his nose was touching her static curls. Hermione held her breathe as she felt his touch. He seemed to be burying his face into her hair while his hands continued to grasp her arms.

Standing on her tiptoes, Hermione nuzzled the sliver of the exposed skin of his neck with her nose. His skin felt soft and smooth and the spicy, erotic fragrance of his aftershave triggered an urgent, throbbing sensation inside her.

'Hermione…'

'Mhm?' she murmured.

'You need to leave,' he muttered. But, as he spoke, his fingers curled even tighter around her arms. 'Do as I say.'

His body, which was pressed against her, did not seem to support his instruction.

'Hermione. Now.'

She was torn between the burning sensation of need inside her and her student instinct to follow a teacher's command.

'Go!' The syllable was pronounced in a guttural growl and she tore herself out of his grasp and out of his sight.

As the classroom door closed behind her she heard an almost inhuman growl of fury and the unmistakeable sound of a cauldron smashing onto the floor.

* * *

><p>She left the dungeons in an almost trancelike state. Everything felt like a lucid dream. Her feet led her straight past the Great Hall to the hidden corridor, concealed behind an ancient tapestry, which snaked towards Gryffindor Tower.<p>

It was only when she climbed the stairs leading to her dormitory that the effect of the potion's fumes evaporated. The numb, intoxicated sensation that had spread through her body and mind was suddenly replaced with rational thoughts and feelings.

Hermione felt embarrassed and foolish and her skin flushed a fiery shade of red as she recalled the past hour that she had spent in the dungeons. She was mortified.

She blamed the potion. The swirling pink mixture had released an intoxicating scent that had robbed her of her ability to think clearly. That was the only explanation. He, too, had been affected by the potion's vapour; he had responded to her ministrations. Hermione remembered the strength of his grasp and the tingling sensation that he had caused when his lips had touched her ear.

'Stupid potion…' she muttered under her breath as she flung herself onto her bed. Hermione cursed herself inwardly for choosing a potion that had caused them both such humiliation. She could not even stomach the thought of what would happen next time they met.

All her lustful feelings and fantasies towards him were meant to be kept hidden at the back of her mind. Never had she intended on acting upon her feelings. He was a teacher and she was a student and apart from the fact that her feelings were unreciprocated, Hermione had no desire to put him in a situation that would jeopardise his job.

She cursed the exam board for allowing students to brew Amortentia. In Hermione's mind, the effects of the love potion were even more dangerous than that of Draught of the Living Dead. The potion had unlocked her secret desires and robbed her of her control over her body. But, on the other hand, the potion was meant to be brewed by the student alone. Professor Snape was bending the rules by helping her.

Hermione felt her heart sink as she realised that there was no way he would continue to be her mentor. In spite of the embarrassment and mortification that she felt, the thought of Slughorn replacing Professor Snape as her mentor made her feel physically sick. Hermione was fully aware of the fact that she liked Professor Snape more than was appropriate for a seventeen year old girl, but he meant more than that to her. She could not begin to describe or understand everything that he meant to her.

Her heartbeat quickened as she remembered the way she caressed his cheek and how she had pressed herself against his body. But, she could not forget the lack of control she felt and how utterly helpless she had been against her body's desires.

'This is insane!' she cried, massaging her temples with her fingertips. Her stomach churned as mortifying memories flooded her mind's eye.

'Indeed it is, dearie,' replied the magical mirror that hung on the wall beside the bookcase. Hermione raised her head, following the voice of the mirror, and her eyes landed upon the rows of numerous books, varying in colour and size.

Books had always worked as an effective distraction from the various problems that she had encountered over the years. However, she doubted if she there had ever been a time in her life when she had needed a distraction more. Lifting her wand into the air, Hermione pointed randomly at the shelf of books.

'Wingardium leviosa.'

She suddenly remembered her promise to Harry that she would keep an eye out for books that mentioned Horcruxes and this was the perfect opportunity to do so.

_Hogwarts: A History_ was emblazoned on the pristine dust cover of the book that landed gently on her lap. It was a revised edition that she had bought before term and although it was unlikely that _Hogwarts: A History_ would cover such a dark subject as Horcruxes, she needed the distraction. Hermione began to turn the pages, hoping to forget all about her embarrassment and the disastrous outcome of the wretched potion.

After twenty minutes of reading, Hermione closed the book with a frustrated groan.

Usually a book was the most effective vice in aiding her escape from reality. But as she had turned to the page that listed the current staff members at Hogwarts, her heart had dropped into her stomach.

_Current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher: Severus Tobias Snape (Hogwarts alumnus)_

Infuriated by her inability to rid the Defence Against the Dark Arts from her thoughts, Hermione tossed the book towards the adjacent wall, crumpling several pages in the process.

Seconds later, she felt a twinge of guilt for mistreating a book and scurried forward to retrieve it and straighten the pages.

'_Tobias_,' she muttered under her breath. 'What a stupid middle name…'

'Hermione? Who are you talking to?'

Parvati Patil's head appeared around the door as she looked at Hermione curiously.

Hermione's head snapped round to look at Parvati.

'I – er…no one. Just talking to myself,' she mumbled pathetically.

'Um – OK.'

Parvati entered the room and began to rummage in her trunk. Hermione felt anxious and uneasy as she racked her brain for another means of distraction.

She had no desire to return to the common room and engage in conversation with anyone nor did she dare go to the library in case she met Professor Snape.

After several moments of thought, she decided to head to the Prefect's bathroom and go for a bath. As she hurried along the corridors to the fifth floor, she prayed that the soapy water would help scour the embarrassing memories from her mind. Her feet scurried past the statue of Boris the Bewildered as she pushed the heavy oak door of the bathroom.

Hermione had only used the bathroom a handful of times due to the busy nature of her timetable. Nevertheless, the room had not changed. Half of the room was taken up by numerous stalls with toilets inside. An enormous, swimming pool-like tub took up the other side of the room and the stained glass windows showed pictures of mermaids and various other sea creatures. Hermione closed her eyes and listened as the hot water streamed from the tap, slowly filling the porcelain tub with coloured bubbles.

The bath was the size of a Muggle swimming pool and Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as she stepped into the tub. She stood in the hot water for several minutes, allowing her body to adjust to the hot temperature. The water was not scalding but, when she raised her calf out of the depths, the wet skin was red.

Slowly, as she submerged the lower half of her body into the water Hermione felt her nether lips gently brush the surface of the water, sending a pleasant jolt through her body. She gasped at the sensation. But before she could recognise the pleasant feeling as arousal, Hermione plunged the rest of her body into the water. With a grateful intake of breath, her head broke the surface of the water.

She swam a few lengths before resting her back against the porcelain rim of the bathtub. Hermione shut out all her thoughts and memories and focused on the temperature of the bath and the droplets of water trickling down her face.

Prickly goose bumps appeared on her skin as she raised her arms into the cold air. She pushed the wet strands of hair that were plastered to her head out of her eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the heat that had calmed her raging thoughts. The cool air pricked her bare shoulders and her arms as she spread her arms along the edge of the tub.

The fruity scent of the bubbles was soothing and calming and Hermione felt herself relax slightly. She concentrated on the heat of the water and the fragrant bubbles, preventing her mind from wandering as she rested her head against the porcelain edge and closed her eyes

Hermione lost track of how long she spent dozing in the hot water, but she gradually became aware of her surroundings as she peeled back her eyelids. She felt rested and relaxed as she rubbed her bleary eyes.

Dazedly, she lifted her right hand that rested gently on the edge of the bathtub and moved it down towards the thatch of curls submerged underwater.

Her fingers seemed to move of their own accord and the soft pads of her fingertips stroked her folds, teasingly, and then gently moved upwards to caress her clitoris. Her breath hitched in her throat as her strokes became more frantic. Her eyelids clamped shut as she moaned loudly.

Suddenly, as she neared completion, the image of Professor Snape entered her head. His pale features did not display his typical, trademark sneer nor his arrogant smirk, but a look of startled wonder. She could not help herself imagining him stare like that at her and, before she could prevent the image from forming in her head, she was back in the dungeons and back in his Amortentia-induced embrace. She imagined herself raising her face to his own and pressing her lips against his.

She visualised him returning the kiss with equal ardour and before long the timid, dry-lipped kiss transformed into one of passion and need as his tongue opened her closed lips and tasted her mouth with unbridled desire and passion…Her cry reverberated off of the bathroom walls as powerful waves of pleasure surged from her throbbing clit throughout her body.

Her inner walls clenched as she tried to regain control of her breathing and stand up. A rosy flush coloured her cheeks as if her teacher was standing right before her. Hastily, she stepped onto the tiled floor and wrapped a towel around her body, before the cool air could reach the tender flesh between her thighs, which was still swollen from her frantic stimulation and burst of sexual bliss.

With a flick of her wand the bath water disappeared and Hermione sprinted along the corridors to her dormitory. She pulled on her night-gown and tied her damp hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck. With a simple drying spell, her hair could have been dried within seconds, but her need for sleep and escape from the mortifying memories that persisted on entering her mind robbed her of logic and sense.

As she peeled the duvet back, Hermione noticed a small scrap of parchment wedged under her pillow.

_We need to talk. Meet me in my classroom tomorrow morning before breakfast. _

There was no signature underneath the message but Hermione was in no doubt of who had sent the note. She climbed into bed with a feeling of dread and prayed that the following morning would never come.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

'Sir?' she asked in a small voice as she tentatively rapped on the door of his classroom.

'Miss Granger,' he said stiffly as she stepped over the threshold. Professor Snape was sitting straight-backed in the chair behind his desk with a high stack of parchment in front of him. 'Take a seat.' With a formal sweep of his hand, he gestured to the chair placed on the other side of his desk.

His black eyes were empty and unreadable, she noted, as she chanced a quick peek at his face. Despite the fact that his demeanour was neither hostile nor aggressive, Hermione felt her apprehension increase with every step she took towards the chair to which he had pointed. She would have preferred to hear him shout and bellow at her; she could not handle the stiff, formal way in which he was behaving.

The use of her last name as opposed to her first name had also not escaped Hermione's notice. In class, he deigned to call her by her given name but, when they worked on her dissertation in private, she was 'Hermione' to him. It had been weeks since he had referred to her as 'Miss Granger' out with the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

'I presume that you are in no doubt of _why_ I have asked you here this morning,' he began uneasily after she seated herself in the chair in front of him. 'I should – We should _not_ have done – What I mean to say is that…that should not have happened.'

Colour was rising in his face as he concentrated on the dark wood of his desk, avoiding eye-contact with her. He paused for several seconds to allow his words to sink in.

'This potion is having an effect upon us both,' he murmured quietly. 'The best solution, to this problem, is for you to work on this potion alone _without_ my assistance. An even better solution would be to change your potion entirely. However,' he said, sighing heavily, 'according to the exam board, it is too late to change your potion and the topic of your dissertation.'

He broke off as he examined his steepled fingers through narrowed eyes. Hermione's heart was in her mouth as she waited for him to continue.

'Another alternative is…to change teacher,' he said lightly. 'I, myself, would feel more comfortable if you were to switch to another mentor. After what happened last night, it would be _detrimental_ to my job if I were to continue assisting you with your potion. Nevertheless, I am sure that Professor Slughorn will have no objection to taking over as your mentor. I should not have been as…_hands-on_, as it were, with the potion, especially one such as Amortentia. Professor Slughorn will give you no such help and will leave you entirely to your own devices...as it should be. But, I cannot and will not continue to work with you on this potion, Miss Granger.'

'It wasn't your fault…I inhaled too many of the fumes,' she said softly, staring at him beseechingly. 'But, if we consider the situation_ rationally_, nothing – strictly speaking – happened! We – we _hugged_! That was all! There was nothing more –'

'Stop.'

Professor Snape rubbed his face with his hands and he looked nothing like the composed, controlled teacher that she had formerly perceived him to be.

'Miss Granger, I am double your age and I am your teacher! If that..._hug_,' he said awkwardly, 'had gone any further, I would have lost my job and all credibility as a teacher. Go to Slughorn.'

'But, sir, what difference does it make whether I work with Slughorn or yourself? I'll still be brewing Amortentia by myself!'

He ran his hand through his hair and, for a moment, Hermione wondered who he was. In all the time she had spent with him, she had never seen her teacher look so distressed. She realised that it was not Professor Snape sitting in front of her; it was Severus Snape; an ordinary man who could feel embarrassment and fear like every other human being.

She took advantage of his silence to press her point.

'Professor Snape, I promise that, in future, I'll do all the brewing by myself so that there'll be no chance of a repeat of yesterday. I'll do all the potion work on my own and you only need to help me with the theory work. That's all you will have to do! I'll do all of the practical work alone –'

Removing his hands from his hair, he banged his fist onto the table.

'You are missing the point, Miss Granger! It is impossible for our professional relationship to continue after that little _tryst_ –'

'It was just a hug…'

He gave her a scathing look.

'Don't be naïve,' he growled. 'You know full well that it was much more than an innocent embrace…and it could have gone much further. I won't take that risk again by brewing another batch of Amortentia with you at my side! Amortentia is a potion to be brewed on one's own!' he snarled. 'I was a fool for helping you brew it.'

'I'm sorry,' whispered Hermione, hating the pathetic, pitiful plea in her voice. 'I can change the potion that I'm working on, but…don't make me work with Professor Slughorn.'

'As I have already told you, it is too late to change your potion,' he retorted icily. 'Professor Slughorn is a highly skilled Potions Master and he is well experienced in mentoring pupils of an advanced level as well as teaching. He would be a great help to you.'

Hermione allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction at his suggestion that she was of an 'advanced level.' Professor Slughorn did not regard her abilities so highly and she cared very little for the new Potions Master, who valued Harry over her.

Slughorn triggered strong feelings of self-doubt within Hermione, which made her question her abilities as a potioneer. The feeling of mediocrity consumed her every lesson as the Potions Master winked delightedly at her friend and the defaced textbook that he clutched to his chest.

But Snape's praise was quickly forgotten from her mind as her thoughts turned to the imminent problem she faced.

Her mind worked frantically as she summoned up various reasons and excuses that would allow her to continue working with him. She had always known that nothing in the way of romance could ever happen between them, but Hermione could not bear the thought of losing the bond of friendship that they had come to share.

'Sir, please,' she begged him softly. 'I will brew the potion by myself in future and I – I'll do whatever you say. But, please, I feel like…You're the only person who I can…confide in. I – I don't know what I'd do without...our friendship.'

Professor Snape examined her closely. His expression was blank and the message in his eyes was inscrutable. After several seconds, he exhaled heavily as he turned his gaze towards the corner of his desk. Hermione could sense the cogs whirring in his brain.

'I – I shall think about it,' he murmured as he continued to stare at his desk. 'That's all I have to say, Miss Granger. You may go.'

'Sir –'

His head snapped upwards to look at her and, for the first time in weeks, Hermione could see true anger emerging on his face.

'My job is on the line here, Hermione. Think about that.'

She nodded slowly as she dipped her head to face her skirt.

'You are dismissed.'

* * *

><p>There was nothing that she could do.<p>

She could fully understand the fear he felt for his job and she, too, felt a surge of guilt for not considering the danger she had put him in. But the thought of losing the bond that had formed between them scared her. The feelings of desire that she felt towards him were almost irrelevant and she realised that she did not care if he never touched her again. It was their banter, their sharing of histories, their intellectual discussions and the safety that he kept her and her family in that meant everything to her.

Hermione knew he cared for her. But she knew that this care was not of the romantic sort; it was an almost paternal care akin to the care a master feels towards his protégée. She was his to mould and to shape into a skilled potioneer. A surge of indifference arose in her she mulled over the fact that he did not care for her the way she cared for him. Her sole interest lay in his assent to continue working with her.

As the days crawled by, she heard no word from Professor Snape nor had she received any owls or notes. During their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, he ignored her as if she were less than a ghost. The rest of the week trudged by and Hermione began to give up hope of hearing from him. But she refused to waste her time by moping and resolved to use her new load of free time to catch up with her other subjects. He would contact her eventually, but she knew that she had to understand his misgivings.

A thin blanket of snow covered the Hogwarts grounds and Hermione could not overlook the misery as she listened to the snowball fights taking place outside that Friday evening. There were yells and occasional, muffled thuds as snowballs struck the window of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione and a handful of first-years were the only people sitting in the common room that evening.

The first-years were gossiping loudly in high-pitched voices, while Hermione scribbled frantically over sheets and sheets of parchment. Her hand ached from writing and she winced gently as she read over her Transfiguration essay.

It was not her best work due to the preoccupation of her mind and the noisy distraction in the shape of first-years, who squealed loudly every time a snowball hit the window pane.

She straightened her spine, which felt painful and stiff from hunching over the parchment resting on her lap. As she stretched, her eyes followed one of the first-year girls who had boldly moved towards the window.

'Will you lot quit throwing – Aaah!'

The dark-haired, first-year screamed as the snowball met its target. She flounced away from the window, wiping her dripping face with her hands as her friends burst into raucous laughter.

'Shut up,' she muttered as she tucked wet strands of hair behind her ear.

At that moment, Harry and Ron entered the common room, brushing snow from their shoulders and grinning widely. The group of first-years began to buzz with excitement and the volume of their incessant gossiping increased as they stared at Harry. His face was bright red and his hair was damp from snow, but he was beaming widely as he readjusted his glasses.

'Where were you, Hermione? You should've come out with us!' he said as he sat down on the armchair opposite her.

She gestured to the pile of textbooks and the sheets of parchment splayed around her and smiled sadly.

'I had a lot of catching up to do,' she explained meekly. 'Did you have fun –'

'It was brilliant! You should have seen Harry!' said Ron excitedly as he cut through her. 'You might be good on a broom, mate,' he said, turning to Harrry and clapping him on the shoulder. 'But you are bloody crap in a snowball fight...Lavender got him right in the face with this massive snowball! He was soaked! He started chasing her around and –'

'I don't think Hermione cares about your stupid snowball fights,' said Ginny, who climbed through the portrait hole after Ron and Harry. The red-haired Weasley was smiling but there was something in her tone of voice that suggested she was troubled. Hermione gestured to the seat next to her and Ginny gladly took it.

Ron plopped himself in the armchair next to Harry and they began to relive the snowball fight that they had, oblivious to Hermione and Ginny.

Ginny watched them for a while before turning to Hermione. Her green eyes were wide as she looked at her.

'I think I…I'm going to end it. With Dean,' she murmured softly so that only Hermione could hear.

Hermione nodded. Although she sympathised with Ginny and her confused feelings, she was grateful to listen to somebody else's problems and escape from her own. Plus it was a nice feeling. To feel needed.

'Are things not going well between you two?' asked Hermione as she laid a gentle hand on her arm.

Ginny shook her head.

'I mean…we still _get on_ well together. We don't argue that often, but sometimes I feel that Quidditch is the only thing that we have in common. It's the only thing we really talk about. I've tried to ask him how he feels…about us. But he isn't really the type of person who wants to talk about feelings or where he sees this relationship…I know, I sound daft. We're just kids. But I don't want to waste time with someone who doesn't _really_ care about me.'

'How do you think you would feel if you did break up with him?'

'That's the problem…I don't know. It _is_ early days, still. Maybe, it'll get better. Maybe, I like him more than I realise. I'd hate to end it with him and then realise that I actually really liked him…' She rubbed her pale, freckled forehead wearily and closed her green eyes. 'I just don't know what to do.'

'Well, if I were you, I wouldn't make any rash decisions. Like you say, you're not sure and so you need time to think. Don't break up with him until you're absolutely certain that it's the right thing to do.'

Ginny opened her eyes, which focused immediately on Harry, who was deep in conversation with Ron. She parted her lips as if to speak before closing them again.

'You're right,' she mumbled, unwinding the Gryffindor scarf from her neck. 'Thanks for the advice, Hermione…'

'Anytime,' she murmured in response.

'And good luck with the Apparition lessons tomorrow.'

Hermione groaned as she watched Ginny ascend to the dormitories. She had forgotten all about the Apparition lessons, which would take place the following morning. Her disastrous first attempt at riding a broom at the beginning of first-year came to mind and she could not help but wonder if Apparition would be the same.

She went to bed that night, mentally preparing herself for an afternoon of humiliation and embarrassment.

* * *

><p>To her surprise, Hermione awoke to a feeling of, both, nervous anticipation and excitement. The possibility of embarrassing herself made her feel nervous and anxious, but that did not inhibit the eagerness she felt at the thought of learning something new.<p>

It was early in the afternoon once she finally clambered out of bed and Hermione attributed her good mood to the decent night's sleep that she had had. The only dark cloud that hung over her head was the fact that she would be in the same room as Professor Snape, who had yet to inform her about his decision regarding her dissertation.

Pushing thoughts of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher from her mind, Hermione brushed her teeth before dressing herself. She found Harry waiting for her in the common room and, together, they headed towards the staircase leading to the ground floor of the castle.

The chairs and tables had disappeared from the Great Hall but the four Heads of House and another, unfamiliar wizard stood under the enchanted ceiling. Thick, grey clouds swirled above their heads, mirroring the bleak, January weather outside. Rain pounded loudly against the tall windows and Hermione felt relieved that, unlike broom lessons, their Apparition classes would take place indoors.

They were not the first to enter the Hall and, already, several students stood before their Head of House. Harry and Hermione joined Parvati and Neville at the front of the line in front of Professor McGonagall. Parvati was chattering at a rapid pace, twiddling her long ponytail between her fingers. Neville, on the other hand, looked green with apprehension as he had done on the day of their first flying lesson. For his sake, and her own, Hermione prayed that Apparition would prove to be much easier.

'It – it can't be that difficult…can it?' squeaked Neville. His eyes darted from Professor McGonagall to the strange wizard standing at the far side of the Hall.

'Stop fretting, Mr Longbottom. No one masters Apparition on their first attempt,' replied Professor McGonagall in an attempt to soothe Neville's nerves. Hermione raised her eyes to look at Professor McGonagall, who was fixing the long, drooping sleeves of her robes and, before she could stop herself, her gaze slipped towards Professor Snape.

He wore his trademark deadpan expression but he seemed to be deliberately holding his stare, pointing his eyes at the wall ahead. His arms were folded in his long, black cloak and, in truth, he seemed oblivious to everything going on around him. Like a statue, he stood unmoving and silent.

Suddenly, his head turned approximately half an inch and his eyes flickered towards Hermione. She held her breathe as she felt his eyes on her. But as soon as it happened, it was over. Jerking his head the other way, he appeared to be instantly engrossed by something happening on the other side of the window. Hermione exhaled as she absent-mindedly fingered her wand in her pocket. She edged closer towards the circle of classmates around her and joined the conversation, blocking Professor Snape from her line of vision.

The Hall gradually began to fill up as more sixth-years arrived and, after twenty minutes, the room was abuzz with hordes of hyper, chattering teenagers. It was only after Professor Sprout's quick headcount that the small, unfamiliar wizard stepped forward.

The Apparition Instructor was of a slim build with receding wispy, brown hair that was streaked with grey. His wizarding robes did not conceal his slender physique and Hermione was asked by Harry if his frail build made it significantly easier for him to Apparate.

'Good morning, sixth-years! My name is Wilkie Twycross and I am your Apparition Instructor. These lessons shall run for approximately twelve weeks, by which time, some of you may be ready to take your –'

Professor McGonagall's voice echoed loudly off of the four walls as she ordered Draco Malfoy to be quiet.

Draco's gaunt face turned pink with embarrassment and Harry's head whipped round eagerly to look at him. Professor Snape, she could not help noticing, was also blushing slightly. But Hermione took the colour in his cheeks as a sign of indignation at McGonagall's interference with his House.

'– test,' Twycross finished as if nothing had happened. 'Now, before we begin, I would like each of you to spread out throughout the room. Give yourself plenty of space around you!'

The students dispersed throughout the Great Hall but not without causing a great deal of pushing and jostling. The Heads of House swept through the Hall, separating sixth-years and breaking up arguments. Hermione edged away from the group of Gryffindors to find her own space but, to her surprise, she spotted Harry moving closer towards the Slytherin section of the Hall.

'Where are you –'

'Not now, Hermione,' he grunted in a low voice as he positioned himself mere feet away from Vincent Crabbe.

Once the students had been marshalled into position, Twycross raised his wand into the air and conjured wooden hoops, which landed in front of every sixth-year.

'There are three things to remember when Apparating!' he announced, wringing his hands together. 'Number one…destination. Two is…determination…and, thirdly, deliberation! I want you all to focus on the hoop in front of you, which is your _destination_. Next step…You must be _determined_! You must _yearn_ to enter the hoop. On my command, I would like you to turn on the spot while feeling your way into nothingness. But do not forget to move with _deliberation_!'

The sixth-years exchanged bewildered glances except Neville who looked both confused and panicky.

'On my command…One…Two…THREE!'

The Hall erupted in confusion as students spun on the spot and tumbled to the floor. Several students staggered as they tried to prevent themselves from crashing onto the ground.

Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, looked momentarily thrilled as he stood in the centre of the hoop until he caught sight of the tears of laughter rolling down Dean Thomas' face. He was not the only one. The Heads of Houses stood against the wall, suppressing amused smirks behind their hands.

Both Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick seemed to be battling fits of laughter and even Professor McGonagall struggled to maintain her stern expression. Professor Snape, on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes and folded his arms as he looked at the students rubbing their backsides and readjusting their hoops.

Hermione ignored the wave of disappointment that she felt as she re-positioned her hoop. Fortunately she had stopped herself from falling, but the spinning motion had caused her to lose her balance and stagger hazardously into Seamus Finnigan. Despite her experience with spells and enchantments, she could not fathom the magic behind Apparition nor could she suppress the foolishness she had felt as she turned on the spot.

'Never mind, never mind,' said Twycross dismissively, waving his hands in the air to recapture their attention. He did not seem remotely surprised by the first attempt. 'Again! After three…One…Two…'

There was no success during the second attempt and Hermione felt frustration rise within her.

Her academic success and reputation was all down to the hours of practise she devoted to her studies. But Apparition was not something she could practise on her own during the week. Anti-Apparition charms were in place all around the castle and its grounds, which made it impossible to practise on her own. McGonagall had informed the sixth-years, during a Transfiguration lesson, that the charm would be lifted in the Great Hall for an hour during their Apparition lessons. For a brief moment, she wondered if Professor Snape would consent to taking her beyond the Hogwarts grounds to allow her to practise. Tentatively, she raised her head and peered at him from the other side of the Hall. But as their eyes met, his expression was of such a severity that Hermione doubted if he would consent to such a liberty.

Hermione was roused from her train of thought during her third attempt when an ear-piercing squeal cut through her reflections and her frustration.

The Heads of House immediately descended upon Susan Bones whose left leg had severed completely from her body. There was an echoing gasp of horror from the sixth-years as they spotted the howling Hufflepuff's dismembered body part, lying five feet away from the rest of her.

Through the cluster of bodies, Hermione discerned Professor Snape's raised wand hand and the low growl of his voice as he attempted to reunite Susan with her leg. A cloud of purple smoke appeared, which immediately enveloped the panic-stricken redhead and the Heads of House, shielding them from sight. A few minutes later, the smoke dissipated to reveal a whole but pale-faced and sobbing Susan.

'Splinching,' announced Twycross as Professor Sprout escorted Susan out of the Hall towards the hospital wing. The three remaining Heads of House resumed their positions against the wall. 'Splinching refers to the separation of random body parts, as you have just witnessed. This is caused by a lack of determination. You must remember that the three Ds are equally important!'

He cast a glance around the room at the horde of sixth-years and detected a mixture of shock, frustration and, even, boredom among the students. Nevertheless, the wispy Ministry wizard did not look disheartened as he vanished the wooden hoops.

'I think we shall stop here for today…Until next Saturday! And do not forget…Determination. Destination. Deliberation.'

The students burst into conversation and began to regroup as Twycross exited the Great Hall alongside the Heads of House.

Hermione found Harry in a state of great agitation when she made her way across the room to his side. His eyes were fixed on a spot in the sea of students heading towards the exit and Hermione was almost certain that it was Malfoy.

She looked over Harry's shoulder to see Lavender slide her arm through the crook of Ron's elbow, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder in a sickening, lovesick gesture.

'Come on, Hermione,' whispered Harry urgently as his fingers closed around her wrist. He pulled her through the throng of students, moving deeper and deeper into the mob.

Snippets of conversation buzzed around them as they moved.

'I think I felt _something_…'

'Poor Susan! That must have been terrifying…'

'What would happen if you Splinched your head? Like if you left your head in one place while your body Apparated to another? Would you die or –'

'I could feel a sort of tingling sensation in my arm…'

Hermione craned her neck and spotted Malfoy's blonde head bobbing ahead of them at the front of the crowd. Harry's gaze was glued to his target.

'Harry, he's miles away. We'll never catch up…What is –'

'Bugger,' muttered Harry as he relinquished his grip on her wrist. His eyes were narrowed as they followed Malfoy until he was out of sight. He turned to Hermione wearing an expression of fatigue and defeat.

'What was all that about?' asked Hermione as she rounded on her friend, rubbing her wrist where he had grabbed her.

'I – I overheard him talking to Crabbe. Malfoy's got him and Goyle stationed as lookouts –'

'Did he say where or why?' asked Hermione curiously.

'No. But he said something about…about something taking much longer than he thought it would…'

Harry's shoulders sagged as he looked at Hermione's doubtful expression.

'That could mean anything, Harry,' she said quietly. 'It doesn't mean he's up to anything bad.'

'Well, why would he need lookouts?'

She had no response.

'I dunno…' she admitted with a reluctant shrug. 'It is odd, I grant you…But, maybe…he –'

Her attention was suddenly diverted as they approached the doors of the Great Hall. Over the heads of the students, Hermione's eyes spotted Professor Snape and the Headmaster, standing outside the entrance to the Hall, deep in conversation.

Despite her resolve to bar all thoughts of Professor Snape from her mind and her dreams, Hermione could not stop herself as she pushed her way forward until she was within hearing distance.

Harry, who had been looking at her indignantly, followed her with a look of curiosity etched onto his face.

'Albus,' growled the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. 'I must speak with you.'

'And what is the problem, Severus?'

'Hermione, what the –'

'Wait,' Hermione hissed, grabbing Harry by the collar. She lowered herself to the ground under the pretence of tying her shoelace as she listened to Professor Snape. Harry, too, seemed to be in no rush to move away as he realised that they were eavesdropping into the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore.

'It is a matter to be discussed in private.'

'Unfortunately, Severus, I have an urgent meeting with Rufus Scrimgeour. I'm on my way to Hogsmeade right now…You can tell me now _quickly _or you must wait until I return,' explained the Headmaster, straightening his tall, pointed, wizard's hat.

Professor Snape cast a cursory glance around him but his eyes fell upon Harry, who immediately turned his head away from the teacher's glare. Nevertheless, the Defence Against the Dark Art's teacher was fully capable of spotting suspicious student behaviour.

'Perhaps, it would be better to wait until we can speak in _private_,' he muttered as he scowled at Harry through narrowed eyes.

Hermione's eyes watched Professor Snape as he stalked towards the dungeon staircase.

'What do you reckon he wanted to talk to him about?' asked Harry as his eyes flickered between the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Hermione.

She would rather have eaten a whole spoonful of Bubotuber pus than tell Harry of the effect that the potion had had on herself and Professor Snape. She shrugged her shoulders and feigned a look of confusion before ascending the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower.

'I wonder why Dumbledore was meeting Scrimgeour in Hogmeade…' pondered Harry aloud. 'I doubt they're meeting for a cosy catch-up so why would he risk being overheard?'

Hermione brain was working at a rapid pace, considering all of the reasons why Snape wanted to speak to Dumbledore. Was he inquiring about her dissertation and resigning as her mentor? Or had something more serious happened?

'Hermione?'

'I doubt he's meeting the Minister in the village,' replied Hermione, trying to focus on Harry's question whilst ignoring the stream of consciousness flowing through her mind. 'Hogsmeade is the closest Apparition point. I imagine he'll Apparate from there to the Ministry.'

'That's a relief…' he muttered. 'The last thing we all need is for the wrong person to overhear Ministry matters.'


	20. Chapter Twenty

Ron was sitting in the armchair by the fire upon their return, holding a piece of parchment between his large, freckled fingers. A tawny Hogwarts owl, perching on the mantelpiece, hooted gently as Harry and Hermione approached before taking flight through the open window.

'Hey, guys,' said Ron, smiling at them. 'I just got this from McGonagall. There's an Order meeting tonight after dinner.'

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but, all of a sudden, Harry immediately launched into his story about Malfoy and his conversation with Crabbe. He retold the story to Ron, exactly as he had told Hermione, as he sat down on the arm of Ron's chair.

Ron shot Hermione a significant look from under his eyelashes as she lowered herself into the adjacent armchair and rolled his eyes.

'Look, mate, I really dunno where you're going with this, I –' Ron tailed off as he looked at Harry's exasperated expression. He bowed his head to look at the floor and rubbed his face with his freckled hands. 'We've been over this so many times…I – er – What do you think about all of this, Hermione?'

Surprise jolted through her as Ron raised his face to look at her. It was the first time in weeks that he had chosen to consult her and Hermione felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

'It's hard to say…I mean, it _is_ odd that he's placing lookouts around the castle but, even though I doubt that he's up to anything good…he might not be up to anything illegal or worth reporting.'

'What about Katie Bell?' asked Harry sharply. His expression was like that of thunder as he glowered at her.

Hermione exhaled heavily in exasperation as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

'What about her? Harry, we've already established that Malfoy was busy at the time that it happened…There's no way he could have done anything or had anything to do with – '

'But now we know that he has accomplices! Crabbe and Goyle are obviously in on the act. They might not know exactly what it is that Malfoy's up to…But, they're working for him nonetheless,' snapped Harry.

Ron snorted loudly.

'They're hardly the brains of Britain…I doubt that we've got anything to fear from Crabbe and Goyle…'

Harry rose to his feet suddenly and aimed a kick at the chunks of wood in the fireplace. He took long, furious strides towards the window and stood with his face against the glass pane.

'Look, Harry,' began Hermione softly. 'I don't want to argue about this again…But there's no solid evidence. You know I'd back you up one hundred percent if there was proof that Malfoy was up to something dangerous or illegal…However, we don't know for sure. Until we know for certain, there's no point in having this discussion every time his name pops up in conversation…'

Even though his back was turned, Hermione could see Harry bob his head.

'OK,' he murmured reluctantly. 'But I will find out what he's up to…'

Harry began to rummage in his pockets and withdrew an ancient sheet of parchment from his pocket that Hermione recognised as the Marauders' Map.

Ron rolled his eyes and stared at the maroon-coloured, Gryffindor rug beneath his feet.

An awkward silence filled the common room as Harry pored over the map.

'Where's Lavender?' Hermione asked politely in feigned interest.

'She's in the Divination classroom, helping Trelawney with something…' Ron replied in a bored tone of voice. Slowly, he raised his head until their eyes met. His blue eyes were wide and earnest as they looked at her. 'Look, Hermione, I want to say that…I'm sorry about…all this. I know that she's not very nice towards you…I – I don't know why…I mean, we're just friends…it's not like there ever was anything between us. But I know that my…_relationship_ has affected our friendship and I'm sorry…I don't want us to fall out over this or to stop being friends. I just want you to know that you and Harry are still my best mates….I – er…'

It was awkward and clumsy, but Hermione had never expected to hear an apology or an explanation from Ron's lips and for several moments she sat in stunned silence. His face turned red as he waited for her to speak.

'I…Thanks, Ron. I'm glad we're still friends,' she said eventually, smiling at him. Ron returned her smile and nodded awkwardly.

'So, what do you think this Order meeting will be about tonight?' he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

'Well, Hermione and I overheard Snape asking Dumbledore for a word in private…so it could be to do with that. But Dumbledore was on his way to see Scrimgeour so it could also be about that…' explained Harry, turning away from the window to face them. He pointed his wand at the map and muttered 'mischief managed' before stowing it inside his robes.

'Blimey, why did Snape want to speak to Dumbledore?' asked Ron as his eyebrows wrinkled together in thought.

'No idea,' murmured Hermione. However, at the back of her mind, she had a slight notion of what it was about. But, she had no intention of saying as much to the boys.

'Anyway, I thought Dumbledore was refusing to meet with Scrimgeour because he kept trying to stick his nose in everything...' Ron pondered aloud.

'Maybe something has happened,' suggested Harry with a shrug of his shoulders.

The portrait hole opened and Lavender and Parvati clambered through. Hermione jumped abruptly to her feet as she caught sight of the blonde-haired Gryffindor.

'Anyway, I better go. Library,' she said by way of explanation. 'See you at dinner.'

'Won-Won!' screeched Lavender as she hurried forward to embrace Ron.

Ron shot Hermione an apologetic look as she strode towards the portrait hole that the two Gryffindor girls had just entered through.

Lavender gave Hermione a dark look, taking care to viciously bump her shoulder against her arm as she passed. Hermione stumbled and tripped over the footstool, before righting herself and hurrying out of the common room.

* * *

><p>'How can he go out with someone so horrible?' muttered Hermione to Harry and Ginny at dinner that night. 'She's just so –'<p>

Hermione had spent the entire afternoon seething about Lavender and the way she had barged into her. Her anger had rendered her incapable of concentrating on her school work as she rubbed the blooming bruise on her arm.

'In all fairness, Hermione…She's only horrible towards you,' replied Harry as he poured gravy over his mashed potatoes.

Hermione glared at him witheringly until he raised his hands.

'I'm just saying!' he insisted defensively. 'I'm not trying to justify her behaviour…But you know that she's just jealous, don't you?'

'She has no reason to be! Ron's going out with her! Ron and I never even went out –'

'Yeah but girls don't think like that. Girls have a weird way of thinking and twisting things in their minds…'

Ginny scowled and punched him in the arm.

'Ouch!' he winced, rubbing the spot where she hit him. 'What I mean is…You get ideas in your head and suddenly you become paranoid and jealous and psychoti – I mean…'

He tailed off as he looked at the dark glowers he was faced with.

'I'm wording this badly…What I mean, Hermione, is…well, you and Ron have been friends since first-year and you're…y'know…not ugly –'

'Thanks, Harry,' she said sarcastically. In spite of herself, Hermione could not suppress the smile forming on her lips. 'Since when did you become such an expert on the workings of the female mind?'

'Well, since that disaster with Cho and the conversation we had after it, I've come to understand that girls are the most irrational and illogical creatures in this world,' he said as he took a long draught from his goblet.

'Thanks a bunch,' said Ginny with a grin. 'Boys are even worse.'

'Nope…' replied Harry. 'Boys are pretty straightforward.'

'If only,' murmured Hermione, placing her chin in her palm.

'As far as I can see, Harry's right,' said Ginny, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's arm. 'Lavender's jealous of you. You're good-looking and you were good friends with Ron and she clearly has self-esteem issues. She's completely paranoid! She's so blinded by her own insecurities that she believes Ron could have feelings for you even though he's going out with her…That's why she wants you to keep away from him,' she explained as she speared a carrot with her fork.

'Don't worry about it, Hermione,' said Harry through a mouthful of food. 'Just keep your distance from her and don't let her catch you talking to Ron and you won't have to put up with her.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and concentrated on her dinner plate.

Nevertheless, Lavender was soon forgotten as she considered the possible reasons behind the Order meeting that would take place later that evening. Hermione suspected that most of the meeting would be related to Ministry matters regarding security and safety. But, at the back of her mind, she feared that there would be more news of death and destruction.

She could also not stop herself from wondering about the outcome of Professor Snape and Dumbledore's conversation and whether or not she would be forced to change her mentor. She had not warmed to the thought of working with Slughorn and the thought of losing her friendship with Professor Snape filled her with anxiety.

Unease and nerves settled in her stomach, along with her dinner, as it did before every Order meeting. Hermione followed Harry and Ron into the grimy kitchen of Grimmauld Place with Professor McGonagall bringing up the rear.

This time, however, her nerves had increased a tenfold as she found herself sitting on a chair beside Professor Snape.

He ignored her and averted his gaze as soon as she sat down next to him and Hermione dared not be the first to make conversation. To her horror, her leg accidentally brushed against his own as she settled into the hard wooden chair. He snarled inwardly and swung his legs away from her as Hermione blushed furiously and crossed her ankles.

The minutes before the meeting felt like hours and Hermione concentrated hard on the witches and wizards entering the kitchen, in an attempt to distract herself from the man sitting beside her. There was a distinct shortage of chairs for the number of people filing in the small kitchen and there was a great flurry of wands as chairs were summoned out of thin air.

'Budge up, Hermione,' said Fred Weasley with a cheery wink. Hermione's face flushed as she edged her chair closer to Professor Snape. 'Come on, a bit more,' urged Fred.

Her face turned from pink to scarlet as she found herself completely squashed against the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her thigh was pressed firmly against his and she leaned her body towards Fred in order to avoid pressing her entire body against him. She looked around the room to see that the kitchen was jam-packed with witches and wizards.

The Weasley twins looked more serious than ever as they spoke in low voices with Remus Lupin and even Fleur and Bill seemed more subdued than normal. Mrs Weasley busied herself with the kettle and an array of mismatched teacups as she poured tea and coffee for the Order members.

Finally, the tension broke and Hermione's shoulders relaxed – as much as they could, without brushing against Professor Snape – as a familiar voice filled the kitchen.

'Good evening, everyone,' began Albus Dumbledore, 'now that we are all here and seated, we shall get down to business…'

His arms were folded in his long lilac robes, hiding both of his hands from sight. The matching wizard's hat atop his head brushed the cobweb-coated ceiling and Ron shuddered as several spiders began to crawl down the Headmaster's hat.

'I had a meeting with the Minister for Magic this afternoon…Rufus informed me of the rather peculiar behaviour of several Ministry employees…A wizard from the Department of Mysteries attempted to strangle one of his co-workers, while another was caught carrying a pot of Devil's Snare inside the Ministry. Whether these attacks are as a result of poorly executed Imperius curses or plotted, murder attempts, I cannot say for sure. Fortunately, our Aurors,' he said, nodding towards Tonks and Kingsley and scattering several spiders in the process, 'spotted the unusual behaviour of their colleagues before any harm could be done.

'There is no doubt in my mind that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were behind these attempted attacks…The time has come and they are taking action on their plans to infiltrate the Ministry.'

He paused for a moment to allow the effect of his words to sink in.

'However, Scrimgeour will continue to keep a sharp eye out for any odd behaviour among Ministry employees. Lord Voldemort wishes to take hold of the Ministry without raising the attention of the wizarding world. His attack will be subtle and cunning. He seeks to put Ministry workers under the Imperius curse and transform them into his henchmen…'

Dumbledore tailed off as his eyes examined the faces surrounding him.

'I have been told that the Ministry's security has been doubled…But I want you all,' he said as his gaze lingered on Kingsley, Tonks, Arthur Weasley, 'to be aware and cautious at all times. Look out for suspicious behaviour or even the slightest oddity…An Imperiused witch or wizard can be difficult to spot when unaware therefore you must always be on your guard…'

'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' bellowed Moody, banging his stick on the hard floor.

Everyone in the room jumped, except Dumbledore who merely smiled slightly.

'Bloody hell,' cried George, rubbing his chest.

'Correct, Alastor…Constant vigilance,' he repeated softly. 'Now that we have seen to the security of the wizarding world, we must turn our attention to that of the Muggle world. I do not wish to leave the Muggles alone and unprotected during these dark times…After my suggestion, the Minister assigned Kingsley to the job of posing as a Muggle and protecting the Muggle Prime Minister. Has there been any sign of alarm or cause for concern?' he asked as he turned to address Kingsley.

His smooth bald head and his gold earring glinted in the light as he shook his head.

'Fortunately not, Albus. The Prime Minister is terrified and bewildered by the unexplained deaths, the inexplicable collapse of buildings and houses…Not to mention the thick fog that lingers everywhere. But, there have been no attempts on his life nor do the Muggles suspect the existence of magic or anything that they would deem unnatural. They are baffled but they believe that there is a logical explanation for these calamities…'

The Headmaster nodded slowly. Suddenly the kitchen door burst open and an old woman, who Hermione did not recognise, appeared, dragging a bedraggled and stinking Mundungus through the door by the ear. His lank, dirty hair dangled in his red-rimmed, drooping eyes.

Harry stood up abruptly, knocking his chair backwards onto the floor with a loud clatter.

'You!' he growled. 'What is he doing _here_? I caught you stealing from this house! This was Sirius' house and it was his things you were nicking!'

'Who? Me? I never stole nothin'!' he cried, holding his hands up in defence as the woman let go of him. He rubbed his ear, which had turned a bright shade of beetroot, and winced loudly. The stench of tobacco and alcohol emanated from the squat, bandy-legged wizard.

'Liar! I caught you that time in Hogsmeade! You were nicking his things, you spineless, thieving – '

Ron wrapped his arms around Harry's torso and held him tight, preventing him from springing towards Mundungus.

'Calm down, 'Arry!' he cried insistently. 'Sirius never wanted any of tha' old junk, anyway! Gotta make a livin', ya know? The price I got for those cups 'n' that…Unbelievable!'

'Sit down, Harry,' hissed Hermione as she righted his chair and helped Ron pull him onto the seat. Reluctantly, he sat down but his fury was etched plainly on his face.

'It's alright, Harry,' said the elderly woman soothingly as she adjusted the hairnet covering her frizzy grey hair. She glowered darkly at Mundungus and whacked him over the head with the back of her hand. 'He won't be doing any more stealing or pickpocketing.'

She turned her gaze back to Harry and smiled at him softly as she raised her wand proudly into the air.

Hermione did not know the woman but she felt her lips tug upwards in a smile as she looked at her standing in her tartan carpet slippers holding her wand.

'Mrs Figg…You got a wand?' Anger left his face to be replaced by complete surprise. His eyes widened as he stared at the woman. 'You can do magic? I thought you were a – a –'

'Squib,' she finished for him. But her wrinkled face was glowing with happiness and pride. 'Not anymore. I took a Kwikspell course, which worked wonders! I'm a full witch now! I think this wand was one of the last that Ollivander made…If only my mother and father could see me,' she said happily, gazing down at the polished strip of wood in her hand.

Comprehension dawned on Hermione as she recalled Harry's story from the previous year about his neighbour. Dumbledore had sent Mrs Figg to watch over Harry throughout his childhood with the Dursleys in Little Whinging.

'That's brilliant,' said Harry, beaming at her. 'I'm really pleased for you.'

'Well, that's my days of thievin' well and truly over…' said Mundungus with sarcastic grimness. 'Now that the old bat can wave a wand.'

Harry's smile dissolved as he turned back to Mundungus, but Ron caught him by the arm before he could launch at the smelly wizard standing in front of them.

'I did not summon you here to be a nuisance, Mundungus,' said the Headmaster smoothly. 'Harry, I have told you before, Mundungus shall not steal from this house again, I can assure you…'

Mundungus mumbled something darkly under his breath.

'Now, do you have anything to report?' asked Albus as his eyes focused on Mundungus, who seemed to cower slightly under the older wizard's gaze.

'Not really, I s'ppose,' he said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. 'Been a few Death Eaters hangin' about Knockturn Alley in the past week…Rabbitin' on about some wardrobe or a cabinet or somethin' like that…'

'A cabinet?' repeated Remus Lupin as his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

'Yeah. S'what I recall.'

'What for?'

'Dunno…' replied Mundungus, brushing tobacco from his stained cloak. He withdrew his wand from his sleeve and began to pick his teeth with it and Hermione heard Professor Snape exhale loudly in disgust as he looked at Mundungus.

'A Vanishing Cabinet, perhaps?' suggested Arthur Weasley, scratching his chin. 'What would the Death Eaters want with that?'

Hermione caught an exchange of looks between the Headmaster and Professor Snape but, when she looked sideways at her teacher, his face was expressionless and unreadable.

'Who were the Death Eaters?' asked Lupin. His face looked thoughtful and pensive as he observed Mundungus through tired eyes.

'I dunno their names…' he said, shaking his head. ' There was a big, blonde-haired bloke…'

'Helpful,' grunted Moody sarcastically. 'You've just described half of Voldemort's Death Eaters.'

'Merlin's pants! D'ya have to say the name?' cried Mundungus as he jumped in alarm. He covered his ears with his hands as he stared at Moody in horror. 'Blimey, my heart's beatin' like –'

'Is that everything, Mundungus?' asked Albus kindly.

'Yeah…Can I go now?'

'You may,' replied Albus with a slight nod of his head.

The stench of tobacco lingered even after the squat, smelly wizard had left the room.

'I do not know what to make of all this…' admitted the Headmaster wearily. 'Can you shed any light on the matter, Severus?'

'The Dark Lord has not spoken to me of any plan regarding a Vanishing Cabinet,' he replied smoothly. Hermione jumped as his low voice filled the room and she felt her face flush red. 'On the other hand, Mundungus's ears are hardly the most reliable…'

''Dung has his uses,' said Lupin. 'He might be a thief and a scoundrel…But he knows a lot.'

'I think we shall call an end to this meeting for tonight. It is getting late,' said Albus as he glanced at the clock on the wall. 'Remember, Tonks, Arthur and Kingsley, to keep an eye out for any odd or uncharacteristic behaviour of any of your colleagues. If Rufus Scrimgeour or any other high-status Ministry official were to fall under the Imperius curse…well…Let's just hope it never gets to that stage. Until next time.'

Hermione remained rooted in her seat and allowed the members of the Order to exit before her. Harry was deep in conversation with Arabella Figg and Hermione had no desire to rush to her dormitory and ponder over what had been said during the meeting. The thought of the Death Eaters gaining access to the Ministry made her stomach turn in a most unsettling way.

Her eyes flickered towards Professor Snape's vacant chair and she exhaled heavily. She had hoped that he would speak to her and inform her of the situation with regards to her dissertation and her mentor. Hermione tried to take the attitude of 'no news is good news', but she found little comfort in that outlook.

Harry and Ron eventually rose from their chairs as the last of the Order members left the kitchen and Hermione stood to follow them.

'What the bloody hell was all that about? All that about a Vanishing Cabinet?' asked Ron as he threw himself into an armchair once they arrived back at the Gryffindor common room.

'Not a bloody clue,' replied Harry, shaking his head. 'I know that this is probably a stupid question but…what does a Vanishing Cabinet actually do?'

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione's reflex at answering questions was much faster.

'Well, normally, Vanishing Cabinets come in pairs and if you put something in one cabinet, it will appear inside its twin. There's a sort of invisible passage between them, which allows objects to be transported back and forth between the two cabinets,' explained Hermione. 'Basically, you can convey something from one place to another. It's much handier and faster than using an owl and you can transport larger, heavier items that an owl would not be able to carry. It's a very discreet way of transferring objects.'

'What do you think the Death Eaters want with that?' asked Ron as he looked at Harry and Hermione.

'No idea…' muttered Hermione as she rubbed her eyes with her fist.

Harry stared out of the window at the night sky above.

'Maybe they have some sort of weapon that they want to transport. If it's bulky and heavy, an owl won't be able to carry it…Plus, if it's inside a cabinet, it won't be too obvious…' he suggested.

'It's a possibility,' murmured Hermione. 'Although…I can't imagine a weapon that could be more dangerous than a wand…The Death Eaters already have the Cruciatus curse and the Killing curse…That's really all they need.'

'Perhaps, it's a weapon built for killing more than one person…With a wand, you can only really kill one person at a time. Maybe they've discovered something that can wipe out hundreds of people without the need for individual curses,' replied Harry.

Hermione shivered at his words and crossed her arms.

'Yeah, that's a fair point…' agreed Ron before yawning loudly. 'A Death Eater weapon…It really doesn't bear thinking about…'

* * *

><p>The aura of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and the rain outside seemed to have affected the students' mood as they walked towards the dungeons. It was a bleak Monday morning and the weekend had passed all too quickly. The last place that any of them wanted to be was inside Professor Snape's classroom in the presence of the man himself.<p>

Hermione, however, remained a mere spectre in the classroom and gained no recognition, not even so much as a glance, from Professor Snape throughout the entire lesson. The other members of the class were not so lucky.

Within five minutes, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had swooped down upon Neville and berated him mercilessly for his inability to master the non-verbal spell. Even Parvati Patil was subjected to his sharp words when she failed to answer one of his questions. Hermione, on the other hand, remained completely and utterly invisible to him.

Professor Snape's foul temper lasted for the whole period and, by the end of the hour, he had handed out three detentions and extra homework.

It was with an audible sigh of relief that the class began to pack away their books when the bell sounded at the end of the lesson.

'Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,' muttered Harry as he joined Hermione in the line of students exiting the classroom. 'I wonder why he's in such a bad mood, d'you think it's to do with the Order…'

'Wait.'

Her back was turned to him, but Hermione could tell that the single syllable was aimed at her. Harry looked over his shoulder questioningly, but Hermione shooed him away with a gesture of her hand.

'I'll catch up with you later,' she murmured.

'Close the door.'

Hermione did as Professor Snape told her before turning slowly to face him. He had not risen from his chair and his hands were clasped together, resting on the table. His expression was contemplative and there was no trace of emotion in his eyes. Hermione felt her throat dry as she looked at him.

She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

'Yes, sir?'

'I spoke to the Headmaster this afternoon,' he began in a low voice, 'and…as I told you before, it is simply too late to change the potion…'

Hermione held her breath as she waited for him to continue.

'The same applies for your mentor.'

Her heart pounded rapidly against her ribcage as her ears processed his words. The fact that she would not have to work with Professor Slughorn pulled the corners of her lips upwards into a deep smile.

'I must admit, sir, that I am relieved. I never wanted to –'

'_You_ may be relieved,' he said sharply, cutting through her. 'But this puts us in a very dangerous position, Miss Granger. Especially me. What happened that evening must never – and it will never – happen again.' His tone was like a shard of ice, cutting and cold, as he spoke.

Hermione nodded humbly as she tilted her face towards the floor.

'I shall help you with the dissertation – and _only_ the dissertation…Henceforth, you must brew the potion on your own. I will take no part in the practical side of this project. If you have any questions about the brewing process, I shall give you my advice, but I shall not have any hand in preparing the potion…

'Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Miss Granger. Are you listening to me?'

'Of course, sir,' she said as she looked at his face. His features had settled into their usual stern expression and Hermione felt something twinge painfully inside her.

'It seems that time is of the essence and the end of the school year is fast approaching. You have made adequate work with regards to your dissertation and your notes but, as you may recall, the phial of Amortentia smashed during our last lesson.'

His cheeks had turned pink at the memory and, as Hermione recalled, it had been _he_ who had broken it and ruined the potion. She had not forgotten the resounding crash of the cauldron, which she had heard from the other side of the door. But she knew that it would be unwise to remind him that it was he who was responsible for smashing the cauldron and its contents. The thought of starting over again barely registered in the cloud of relief she felt in the knowledge that she would continue working with Professor Snape.

'You will come every evening, after dinner, to the dungeons to work on your potion and your dissertation. You will work at the far end of my classroom – as far away from my desk as possible. On the condition that you work quickly and efficiently, you should be able to brew an acceptable batch of Amortentia before the deadline,' he explained.

Hermione caught the fatigue in his eyes and the dark smudges that hung from his eyelashes. He looked angry and tired and, all of a sudden, Hermione felt her tongue move of its own accord as it pushed the words from her lips.

'Are you so annoyed by the fact that you must continue to mentor me?'

She did not know why she had let the words escape from her mouth. But the thought of working with him and knowing that he resented every moment that they spent together was a dismal one.

The weariness in his face became more pronounced as he looked at her.

'As I told you several nights ago, Hermione…My job is at risk…Both jobs,' he added as he gave her a significant look. 'If anything had happened…if that had escalated…I would be in serious trouble. You are my student and I am your teacher. My job is to teach you and protect you. By continuing to mentor you, I risk –'

'I won't make this difficult for you, sir,' said Hermione, cutting through him. 'I'll do exactly as you instruct. I just want to know if you're really so…_angry_ that we have to continue working with each other? I…' she began, turning her gaze towards her feet. 'I really enjoy doing this project and dissertation with you…I'd hate to think that you begrudge and resent every minute we spend working together.'

Silence filled the classroom for several seconds.

'I assure you…that is not the case,' he said gently.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

The grass glittered in the light of the sinking sun as Hermione made her way towards the Quidditch pitch. A thin layer of frost coated the grass, which felt crunchy and hard beneath her shoes.

Although the sun had appeared every day that week, the temperature had not risen and the house-elves continued to pile extra blankets upon the students' beds. That Thursday evening was one of the coldest evenings that they had experienced all week and Hermione cursed herself for her bad timing as she stepped towards the Quidditch stands.

Harry and Ron were sitting in the high stands huddled in thick cloaks, scarves and woolly hats. Their broomsticks were propped up against the bench beside them. Ron blew into his cupped hand, coaxing some warmth into his fingers while Harry wrapped his arms around himself and buried his head between his knees.

'Oi!' Ron shouted though his cupped hands as he caught sight of Hermione. 'Why the bloody hell did you bring us out here? It's freezing!'

'It is a little chilly,' she conceded as she strode towards them, straightening her own handmade woolly hat. 'But it's important.'

Hermione threw her school bag onto the bench and began to pull out numerous, thick tomes, varying in size and age. She piled them on top of each other into a tall stack.

It had been a difficult decision as she was unsure of which book would be the most useful and so she had decided to bring them all.

'What are we _doing_?' asked Ron, who failed to keep the shrillness out of his voice. He sat on his hands as he eyed the books suspiciously. 'What are those for? And why do we need our brooms? It's too cold for Quidditch practice!'

'You won't be playing Quidditch,' explained Hermione as she turned to him with her hands on her hips. 'The brooms are a distraction so that if anyone sees us, they'll assume that you're practicing.'

'Why? What will we _actually_ be doing?' asked Harry suspiciously as he buried his gloved fingers in his pockets.

'We're going to do some work for the Order,' she said simply as she rearranged the mountain of books in front of her.

'For the _Order_?' they repeated in unison.

'Why?'

'What for?'

Hermione huffed impatiently before glowering at the two boys. They returned her glower with nonplussed, wide-eyed ignorance.

'It may have escaped your notice, but we are _part_ of the Order. It's our job to contribute and help out –'

'How?'

She counted to ten in her head as she stifled the urge to roll her eyes at the two boys in front of her.

'I took out several books from the library…' She ignored Ron who mouthed 'several' in incredulity as he examined the tall stack of books. 'I thought we could have a look and see if any of them mention anything about Vanishing Cabinets…or _Horcruxes_ for that matter…' she said, eyeing Harry sternly.

'But the Order will figure it out about the Vanishing Cabinets,' said Ron as he looked at Hermione in bewilderment.

'We are _in_ the Order, Ronald! We might have helped out at the Ministry last summer, but we've still got a lot to prove,' she said, slapping his knee with a heavy textbook.

'Alright, alright,' he muttered, cowering away from her and the heavy tome.

'Start reading,' she instructed him firmly as she thrust a book into his hands.

'We should've left her to the troll,' Ron whispered under his breath as he flipped through several pages. Harry started to laugh, but stopped as he caught sight of Hermione's expression.

'I got this for you, Harry,' she said as she held out a dusty ancient tome. 'Look for anything to do with Horcruxes or Dark magic…Although you would be better concentrating on how to get that memory from Professor Slughorn.'

Harry ignored the stern frown upon her face and turned his attention to the old book written by a wizard named Godelot.

They sat in silence for an hour, reading and page flipping until their fingers turned numb with the cold. Eventually, Harry broke the frosty silence.

'Wait, I think I've found something…"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction,"' quoted Harry.

'Well that's bloody helpful, isn't it?' said Ron sarcastically.

Hermione looked thoughtful as she eyed the copy of _Magick Moste Evile_ that he held in his hands.

'Keep looking, Harry. There might be something else about them…' she said determinedly. Hermione paused a moment as she looked at the old, grimy dust cover. 'It must be a truly awful thing for _that_ book not to mention them…They've got the most disgusting spells – '

'Not half as bad as this one,' said Ron, brandishing _Moste Potente Potions_ at her. 'It's got information on how to make a Laxative Potion! How disgusting! Phineas Bourne was a weird wizard,' he said as he examined the front cover.

'Hermione, do you think Snape would know anything about Horcruxes?' asked Harry. His forehead wrinkled as he pondered and Hermione looked at him curiously.

'I'm sure he knows what they are…' she said. 'But I never thought you'd consider asking him for help – '

'_You_ could ask him,' he suggested, avoiding her eyes.

'No, Harry,' she said plainly. 'It will create far too much suspicion. The only way you're going to find out about Horcruxes is by asking Slughorn for that memory –'

'I've tried that, Hermione!' he insisted.

'Try again and try harder,' she said firmly. Hermione stood up abruptly and winced at the stiffness of her limbs. 'I need to go…I have to work on my dissertation and get started on my potion.'

'I thought you'd started your potion ages ago,' said Ron suspiciously as he watched Hermione sling her bag over her shoulder.

She reddened instantly at the memory that had led to the smashing of the first batch.

'Oh – I – I made a mistake and I had to dispose of the whole batch. So, I'm making a fresh cauldron today…But my notes for the essay are almost complete,' she said brightly. 'See you later…And keep looking!'

Hermione had spent every night that week working on her dissertation in Professor Snape's classroom. But it seemed that he had taken their new rules very seriously and he had been absent every time, without leaving her a note or an explanation.

As she made her way downstairs to the dungeons, Hermione felt a pang of excitement at the thought of brewing Amortentia; she had always preferred the practical side of Potions. However, she felt extremely nervous at the thought of brewing the potion without Professor Snape's assistance.

'Why are you wearing a tea-cosy?' he asked as he narrowed his eyes, which were pointing towards her woolly hat.

Hermione jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice; she had not expected him to be there. She blushed furiously and pulled the woolly garment from her head.

'It's a _hat_!' she insisted. 'I made it last year…'

Professor Snape gave the pink wool in her hands a sceptical look before tilting his head to face her. He was standing in front of the open store cupboard, compiling a list of ingredients that needed replenished or replaced.

He set the parchment down on the table as he looked at her.

'You are terrible at knitting.'

'It was my first attempt!' she said defensively. 'Well…technically, it was my second attempt. It's difficult to knit using magic! The Muggle way is much easier…'

'And slower,' he added with a smirk. 'For the sake of my potion-making apparatus, I hope you are better at brewing Love Potions than you are at using domestic charms.' He paused for a few moments to allow his words to take effect. 'Have you made much progress with your dissertation this week?'

'Yes, sir. I just need you to check over a few things but I think the dissertation is almost complete,' she replied.

Professor Snape nodded slowly.

'Unfortunately, I have a meeting this evening and will be unable to supervise you. However, I am…_confident_,' he said with a slight hesitation, 'that you will be capable of carrying out the initial brewing stages on your own. The apparatus is in the cupboard. I will make some time tomorrow evening to check your dissertation notes.'

Hermione bobbed her head as she tried to not let her disappointment show. She had missed his presence over the week and she could not steer her gaze away from his face.

'When will you be back?' she asked.

'Much later. I do not wish to find you here upon my return.'

His words were stern and Hermione could not help but feel slightly hurt by his words. She knew that he was determined not to make any mistakes this time and that he did not want the nature of their relationship to be deemed inappropriate in _any_ way.

'Do you have your notes and your textbook?' he asked crisply.

'Yes, sir,' she replied, glancing upwards at his face.

'Good,' he said with a slight nod. 'Be back in your common room before curfew. If I find you here, I _will_ deduct House points. If any problems should occur, you may use the fireplace in my chambers to contact Professor Slughorn.'

'OK, sir. I'm sure I can manage without Professor Slughorn.'

'Very well…Try not to set my classroom ablaze. That would be most inconvenient,' he said as his eyes glittered light-heartedly. 'Goodbye.'

She smiled tentatively at him and watched as he drew his travelling cloak around his shoulders and strode towards the door of the classroom. His eyes lingered over her before he stepped into the dungeon corridor. But, before Hermione could say 'goodbye', he was gone.

A brief fantasy suddenly flared inside of her as she cast a glance at the door leading to his private rooms. In her mind's eye, she watched herself wander into his bedroom and his living room, touching his personal belongings, reading the books in his bookcase and searching for something that would describe the real person beneath the teaching robes. Although she had been in his room before, she had never had the opportunity to take in his private life and his rooms.

He would be furious if he caught her peering at his things and wandering around his quarters. But the thought was so incredibly enticing.

Hermione shook herself and began setting up a cauldron and a flame. She had just convinced him to continue working with her and prying into his private life would infuriate him further. If Professor Snape caught her, he would bodily force Slughorn to take over as her mentor.

As she worked, Hermione began to wonder about the conversation that she had had with Harry and Ron earlier that evening. She wondered how Professor Snape would react if she were to ask him about Horcruxes. It would definitely arouse his suspicion, to the point where he might even inform the Headmaster.

It was clear to her that a Horcrux was part of a deep, Dark and forbidden magic. They were to be feared and kept at a great distance. In truth, Hermione had no idea what a Horcrux was. It could be a spell or an enchanted object or a curse or a weapon.

Whilst she began to brew the batch of Amortentia, she considered asking Professor Snape about Horcruxes the next time they met.

* * *

><p>'Ugh, Apparition lessons tomorrow,' groaned Ron the next morning at breakfast. He rested his head on his palm as he stirred his porridge unenthusiastically.<p>

'It's not _that_ bad,' replied Hermione cheerfully. 'We've only had one lesson. Maybe we'll be better tomorrow.'

'I swear if I need to watch another Splinching, I'll throw up,' said Ron, pushing his porridge bowl away.

Hermione's eyes lingered over the red-haired boy and the rejected bowl of porridge.

'What's wrong with you? It can't _just_ be about the Apparition lessons, it'd take more than that for you to lose your appetite. Tell me, what's wrong?' Hermione nudged him gently with her arm as she looked across the table at Harry for an explanation.

'Lavender,' said Harry simply. Ron nodded dismally.

'Oh,' she replied. 'What happened?'

'I – er – I forgot to meet her yesterday after dinner. Me and Harry stayed at the Quidditch pitch until about eight o'clock – '

'Did you find anything?' asked Hermione eagerly.

'We didn't find anything about Horcruxes,' replied Harry as he spooned a blob of jam onto his toast. 'But there was some information about Vanishing Cabinets…Apparently, during the First Wizarding War, families would hide in the cabinet when the Death Eaters appeared and they would be transported to a different location…The Death Eaters would have no idea of where they had gone.'

'I still don't see why they couldn't have just Apparated…' muttered Ron.

'Because the Death Eaters would have placed Anti-Apparition spells all over the area, preventing people from Apparating,' said Hermione before Harry could open his mouth.

'Couldn't the Death Eaters also jump in the cabinet and find them at the other location?'

Hermione shook her head.

'There are ways of disguising Vanishing Cabinets…There are spells that can make the cabinet invisible or look like an ordinary piece of furniture like a table or a chair. Obviously those spells wouldn't work against powerful wizards and witches like You-Know-Who and his high-ranking Death Eaters…But the younger, less intelligent Death Eaters wouldn't detect the magical concealment.'

Hermione felt a pang of regret as she considered all the advantages of a Vanishing Cabinet. If she had thought of them before and managed to get her hands on a set of twins, there would have been no need to relocate her parents. They could have continued living in their home and, when the Death Eaters came knocking, they could have jumped inside the Vanishing Cabinet. She shook the mental image of the charred remains of her house from her head. It was fruitless to dwell on it.

Her eyes were drawn to Ron's dismal expression and she remembered their original conversation.

'Anyway, what happened with Lavender?' she asked as she looked at him with concern.

'Harry and I didn't get back until half past eight and when we got back to the common room, Lavender was there waiting for me and she was _furious_. Her eyes were red and she'd been crying. She started – er – going on about you,' he said, nodding to Hermione sheepishly. 'She accused me of spending the whole evening with you –'

'I was in the dungeons! I was working on my dissertation,' Hermione insisted.

'I know, I know,' said Ron. 'I told her that you were with Snape, but she wouldn't believe me. She said that I don't care about our relationship and that I'm inconsiderate of how _she_ feels.'

He slumped in his chair and ran his large hands through his flaming hair.

'I don't know what to do,' he mumbled.

'Do you want to go out with her?' asked Hermione.

'I er…' he began awkwardly.

'I think that's a "no",' said Harry quietly.

'I mean, we have fun…at times…But I don't know how to handle her…mood swings and everything…Why are girls so complicated?' he exclaimed.

Hermione felt a twinge of pity and sympathy as Ron stared bitterly at his knees.

'You could just end it…If you don't want to go out with her anymore,' suggested Hermione gently.

'I'm scared to! You saw what she was like didn't you, Harry?' Ron turned to Harry for support.

'Terrifying,' confirmed Harry as his eyes widened. 'I thought she was gonna fly for you, mate – '

Ron turned back towards Hermione and continued to explain.

'The anger on her face when she thought I was out with you. She wouldn't even listen when Harry told her that we were out on the Quidditch pitch all evening…I don't know how she'd react if I broke up with her…'

He sank into a morose silence and began to rip up his napkin into small, uneven squares. Harry and Hermione watched him until Harry turned tentatively to Hermione.

'I was wondering, Hermione…Did you speak to Snape?'

Hermione blushed at the mere mention of his name and nodded.

'Yes, I spoke to him last night.'

Harry's eyes widened eagerly.

'And what did he say?' he asked enthusiastically.

'About what?'

Hermione felt confusion surface on her face as she looked at Harry and his eager expression.

'About…_Horcruxes_,' he whispered urgently.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

'I've already told you that I'm not going to ask him. It's _your_ responsibility to find out what they are. You need to go to Slughorn,' she whispered.

'But if he could give us an _idea_ of what they are…'

'If Dumbledore won't tell you, what makes you think Professor Snape will tell me?'

'You work with him every evening. You're his best student! He loves you!'

Her cheeks burned red as she lowered her face towards her breakfast plate.

* * *

><p>Hermione spent the entire afternoon being badgered by Harry to speak to Professor Snape about Horcruxes. Although she wanted Harry to find out by getting the memory from Slughorn, she could not suppress her own curiosity and was considering asking Professor Snape herself. From the little information that she had gleaned about Horcruxes, she knew that they were part of dangerous, dark magic. If she began inquiring about that kind of magic, she could potentially ruin the relationship she had built with Professor Snape. Plus, she could get herself into a severe amount of trouble.<p>

But, over the recent months that had passed, she felt like there was something between herself and Professor Snape. It had nothing to do with the attraction she felt towards him; it had more to do with the bond of friendship and trust that had grown between them. He would be extremely suspicious if she broached the subject of Horcruxes with him, but she felt fairly confident that he would not erupt in anger the way Slughorn had done in the false memory.

Unless she had completely underestimated the magic behind a Horcrux.

The door of the classroom closed with a heavy thud, which caused Professor Snape to raise his head from the pile of essays in front of him.

'Good evening, sir,' said Hermione with a small smile as she placed her bag on a desk and pulled out her notes. Hidden among the quills, ink pots and scraps of parchment, there was a book that Hermione had decided to take with her.

She waited until Professor Snape was standing next to her and gradually withdrew the book from her bag.

'Do you want me to read through your notes and your dissertation?' he asked as his eyes examined the various sheets of parchment splayed over the table.

'Actually, Professor, I was wanting to ask you about something slightly unrelated, if that's OK?'

Hermione gulped as she eyed him nervously. His eyebrows wrinkled together and two thin lines appeared on his forehead as he looked at her suspiciously.

'What is this about?' he asked as his eyes narrowed.

She pulled the book from her bag and held it in her hands for him to see.

'_Magick Moste Evile_,' he recited aloud as he read the title printed on the grimy cover of the book. His spine straightened and his expression was thunderous as he looked at her. 'Why on earth are you reading this book, Miss Granger?'

'I – er – I found it in the library, sir,' she said in a small voice. Instantly, she regretted ever bringing the book with her. His expression was warning enough that she had made a grave error. Hermione turned her gaze towards the floor and avoided his eye.

'I do not believe that even the Restricted Section of the library would hold such a book,' he replied in a dangerously low voice. 'Which teacher gave you permission to take this volume? And _why_ are you reading it?'

'I thought it might –' she began, hastily avoiding the question regarding who gave her permission. In truth, she had taken it from the library without the knowledge of Madam Pince and without a permission slip.

'I can see no reason as to why a sixth-year girl would want, or _need_, to read this book.'

'I was hoping that it might help me understand some of the subjects that we study in Defence Against the Dark Arts –'

Hermione could feel his eyes burning through her and she focused all her energy on the ground at her feet.

'In this school, we study _Defence_ Against the Dark Arts. Not the dark arts. This is not Durmstrang. If you have difficulty in fully understanding a certain subject, you come to me. You do not seek information in dangerous textbooks such as this,' he said in a grave tone that made Hermione incapable of looking at him.

'Yes, sir. I'm sorry,' she murmured as her face turned scarlet.

'What did you want to ask me about it?' he asked briskly.

'It doesn't matter, Professor,' she said hastily as she made to shove the book back in her bag.

His hand reached out and held her wrist gently.

'Tell me…and I will decide if I will give you an answer or not.'

Hermione inhaled deeply as she flipped the book open to the right page, cursing herself for showing him the book. But she had gone too far to back out.

'I – I came across this term and I was uncertain of what it meant…'

She did not want to say the word aloud and instead showed him the page and pointed to the word with her finger.

Professor Snape's lips were sealed shut as his eyes roamed over the page. After several minutes, he spoke.

'"We shall not speak nor give direction",' he recited in a low voice. 'This book is full of dark curses and enchantments and the fact that it does not speak of…_this_ subject…surely tells you that this is _very_ dark and dangerous magic.'

'Yes, Professor,' said Hermione humbly. 'I know I shouldn't have asked you about it…I just…wanted to know what it meant by 'Horcru – '

'_Don't_ say it aloud,' he warned her. 'It is a forbidden subject at Hogwarts, the Headmaster is particularly fierce about it…This is dark magic, Hermione. The world is better off not knowing about such things…There are some who would take advantage and use this magic to their benefit – '

'So, it's…a weapon of some sort?' she asked hesitantly.

Professor Snape gave her a sharp look.

'We will speak no more of it. Put the book away and return it to where you found it…_wherever_ that may be,' he added as his eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief; she had escaped unscathed. For a moment, she wondered if she had dropped herself into serious trouble. But as she watched Professor Snape return to his desk with her notes in his hands, she knew that the subject of Horcruxes was forgotten.

It was imperative that Harry coax the memory out of Slughorn. Dumbledore's lessons were of a vital importance to the war and to Voldemort's defeat and if Tom Riddle had dabbled in magic of that ilk, it was important that they figure out how to counter it.

'Hermione?'

'Yes, sir?' asked Hermione as she woke from her reverie.

'Kindly get on with your work.'

She set to work on her potion and poured the phial into the cauldron. Whilst she reheated the cauldron filled with the partially-brewed Amortentia, Professor Snape pored over her notes and the beginnings of her dissertation. He sat at his desk at the front of the classroom as Hermione, obligingly, worked at the table closest to the back wall.

To her extreme relief, the potion seemed to be progressing in the same way as it had done the first time with Professor Snape's help. Shades of pink were beginning to appear on the surface of potion along with the pearly sheen.

Her lips stretched into a wide beam as she watched the potion's development. She tilted her head away from the cauldron to look at Professor Snape. To her surprise, he was not looking at her notes in front of him; his eyes were rooted to her face.

His own lips jerked upwards as he gazed at her.

'How are things developing?' he asked as his eyes glittered in her direction.

'Good, sir,' she replied brightly. 'I think everything's going OK. The potion's turned pink and giving off the mother-of-pearl sheen.' She peered into the cauldron and inhaled slightly. She did not draw in too deeply as she was fully acquainted with the effects of the scent of Amortentia.

'Your notes are fine. Detailed and precise. The introduction of your dissertation is slightly long but I would not expect anything less from you,' he said with a smirk. Hermione returned his smile and bowed her blushing cheeks towards the cauldron.

She heard the scrape of a chair and the sound of footsteps and, when she looked up, he was standing by her side. His hair hung in his eyes as he peered into the cauldron. Hermione felt a chilling sense of déjà-vu as he stood beside her and it was the first time in weeks that they had been in such close proximity.

'Good work,' he said gently as he watched the spiral swirls of steam rise from the cauldron. Hermione smiled as she continued to stir the cauldron's contents. She felt her body shift slightly towards him and the warmth radiating from his figure.

All of a sudden, Professor Snape inhaled sharply and clutched his left arm.

'What is it –' The question died on Hermione's lips as she saw his pained expression and the way he held his left forearm.

'Duty calls,' he muttered grimly through gritted teeth as his fingers tightened.

She looked at him through wide eyes and gently rested her hand on his shoulder. His eyes lingered on her hand for a moment before he turned away from her and strode towards the front of the classroom.

'Yes, sir. Be careful,' she whispered as she watched him disappear out of the classroom door. Hermione swallowed the nervousness that she felt and focused her attention on the Potions textbook in front of her. She hated this situation. She hated being trapped in the castle, unable to follow him and protect him from the most dangerous wizard alive.

Her finger traced the list of ingredients, but she found it impossible to concentrate on the chunk of text. Hermione toyed with the idea of giving up and returning to the Gryffindor common room. But she knew that it would feel a hundred times worse to go back to her dormitory, not knowing if he had returned safely or not. She resolved to stay for a few more hours, in the hope that he would return long before curfew. With trembling fingers, she added several drops of salamander blood.

Several hours had passed when Hermione finally replaced the stirrer on the desk. The Love Potion still had a long way to go but she had made quick progress in two evenings. Her eyes flickered to her watch and, to her surprise, she saw that it was half past eleven at night. Something jolted in her stomach as she noted that Professor Snape had not made an appearance. Although she had no desire to endure one of his tirades, she felt anxious and uneasy at the fact that he had not yet returned.

Her eyes darted between her watch and the door of his classroom. She was out past curfew, but that mattered very little to her at that moment in time. Hermione decided to pour the contents of the cauldron into a phial and clear away the apparatus.

She walked towards the sink to clean the phial, but she stopped in her tracks as the classroom door suddenly banged open.

His long hair hung about his face as he appeared. His spine was bent forward as his fingers clung to the wood of the door frame. Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach as she looked at him.

'Professor, are you OK? Are you hurt?' asked Hermione as she hurried towards the front of the classroom.

The alcohol coursing through his body made him stagger and he launched his body towards his desk, grasping the edge for support. He was trembling violently and the stench of Firewhisky was overwhelming as she moved closer to him.

'You've been drinking.' Hermione voiced her observation in a small voice.

'Clearly,' he snapped as he sank heavily onto his chair and held his head in his hands. Strands of black hair dangled between the gaps in his fingers as he clutched his head.

'Do you want a drink of water?'

'No, but take that blasted potion off the heat. The fumes are making my head spin,' he said with a groan.

Hermione highly doubted that the fumes were responsible for his headache, but she knew that it would be unwise to say so. She did as he bid her and poured the contents of the cauldron into a phial, which she placed in a rack by the sink before clearing away the apparatus spread over her desk.

After she had finished cleaning the cauldron and the various other pieces of equipment at the sink, Hermione filled a glass with water and carried it over towards his desk.

His head and spine snapped upwards as she approached and Hermione had to actively stop herself from jumping backwards. With an unsteady hand, she placed the water in front of him.

'I'm fine,' he snarled, pushing the glass away from him. His face was pink and beads of sweat were beginning to form on his face from the exertion of holding his back straight.

'You should drink it,' she murmured, nodding to the glass.

'You're in no position to tell me what I should and should not do,' he retorted as his nostrils flared. His bloodshot eyes met her own. 'I. Am. Your. Teacher,' he said, shaking his finger with each syllable. Hermione noticed that his hands were trembling as he spoke.

'You're drunk,' she replied bluntly.

'Your observational skills stun me,' he said dryly as he ran his hands through his long, black hair.

'I think I'll finish up for the night and let you get some sleep,' she replied stiffly. She felt an uncomfortable feeling prickle at the back of her neck and she knew that her presence would only bait his anger. A night of drinking with the Death Eaters would have undoubtedly fuelled his foul temper. 'Thank you, sir, for letting me use your equipment. I'll see you in class tomorrow.'

She had not even reached for her bag when she heard him speak.

'I did not give you my leave to go,' he said, looking at her through long, black curtains.

His black eyes were glimmering in the candlelight and his lips were tugged upwards in a small smirk, which did nothing to comfort Hermione.

'May I go, sir?' she asked humbly, looking at her feet.

'This is most unlike you, Miss Granger. I cannot help but wonder if you are feeling well. Normally, I am greeted by a thousand questions from you about where I have been and what I have been doing,' he slurred. 'Or perhaps Miss-Know-It-All already knows the answer.'

'You've been out getting drunk,' she replied coolly as her eyes flickered upwards to look at his reaction.

'Correct,' he conceded with a deep nod that caused his hair to fall in his eyes. 'The Dark Lord, despite his many other failures, is not lacking in generosity and, kindly, provided several bottles of Firewhisky to accompany the night's events,' he said with a sardonic smile.

He used his index finger to sweep his hair away from his face. Hermione remained silent and kept her gaze rooted to a spot on the wall behind his ear.

'Are you not going to ask me where else I was this evening?' he asked dangerously, anger rising in his voice as he looked at her.

'Where else were you tonight, sir?' she asked obligingly. She knew that there was no escape from this charade. Not playing along would only anger him further and Hermione harboured no desire to watch him descend into a drunken rage.

'Well!' he began, placing his hands on the desk and pushing himself off of the chair into a standing position. He swayed as he stood and attempted to focus on Hermione's face. 'We began the evening in a clearing of a forest…dark and dank…the perfect setting for a night of fun between a group of old friends. We were shortly joined by a trio of Muggles that Mulciber had snatched from a house nearby. A young couple and their new-born infant and –'

'Stop,' she whispered.

Hermione felt sick as she listened to his words. She did not want to hear any more, but she could not stop the images that had started to swirl in her mind.

He stopped swaying and looked her in the eye.

'Excuse me?' he slurred.

'That is enough, sir,' she said firmly, staring at him defiantly through wide eyes. 'I do not want to know.'

'Why not?' he barked.

Hermione lowered her face to the floor, praying that he would dismiss her.

'I am your _teacher_ and you'll do as I tell you..._without_ back-chat or insolence!' he shouted, banging his fist on the table.

His closed fist came crashing down on the glass of water that lay on the desk and the sound of flesh on glass echoed as they came into contact.

Hermione squealed and shot backwards as shards of glass went flying through the air.

'For Christ's sake!' he shouted, leaping backwards against the wall as his hand sprayed blood.

'Sir!' Hermione shrieked before hurrying towards him.

Her brain briefly noted his use of the Muggle expression with surprise; she had always thought that he was a pure-blood. She could smell the Firewhisky on his breathe as she moved closer to him to examine his hand.

The glass had sliced his palm open and nicked several of his fingers. But, from what Hermione could see, the shards of glass had not cut him too deeply despite the profusion of blood.

'Shall I fetch Madam Pomfrey?' she asked tentatively. In truth, she knew the cut did not require professional medical attention, but she had no desire to remain unaccompanied in the presence of the angry, drunk and bleeding teacher.

'Don't move,' he snarled vehemently. 'It's a tiny cut. I can heal it in a heartbeat.'

He reached into his robes and withdrew his wand, but his fingers shook so badly that he could barely hold the piece of wood in his hand. Hermione felt her anger and apprehension towards him subside as she looked at the way his body quivered. Despite the cruel way he had spoken to her, Hermione knew that he would never ever hurt her, regardless of what state he was in.

'If you won't go to the hospital wing, at least let me see to it,' said Hermione, stepping towards him.

'You don't know the spell,' he hissed dismissively.

'Then, I'll do it the Muggle way,' she said smoothly. Without waiting for a response, she turned away from him and stalked towards the sink, where she filled a bowl with hot water. She turned her head over her shoulder to peep at him and saw that he was watching her intently, clutching his bleeding hand. 'I need to get something from my dormitory…I'll be back in a moment.'

'Well, be quick,' he snapped. 'Use the Floo network in my rooms. I don't fancy spending the night here slowly bleeding to death.'

Hermione rolled her eyes but as she had her back to him, he could not see her expression.

'Like you said, it's a tiny cut. I think you'll live, sir,' she replied coolly.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

A multitude of emotions raced through her as she travelled through his fireplace to the Gryffindor common room. She had never seen him so out of control and so angry. He had told her about his Death Eater meetings before but only after she had asked and he had never actively tried to scare her before.

But, despite the number of emotions that she felt, Hermione knew that she could not leave him alone in the dungeons with a slashed hand and in his inebriated state. She opened her trunk and pulled out its contents until she found what she was looking for.

She returned from her dormitory holding a pair of eyebrow tweezers and a thick roll of white bandages.

'Took you long enough,' muttered Professor Snape as she re-entered the classroom.

Hermione ignored him as she pulled a chair over to his desk and lowered herself into it. Assembling her medical kit, she laid out a bowl filled with water, an empty dish, a handkerchief, a pair of eyebrow tweezers and the roll of bandages.

'I lost my faith in Muggle healing methods a long time ago,' he said sternly, eyeing the kit with deep suspicion. 'Give me no further reason to doubt their approaches to healing.'

'It isn't deep,' said Hermione as she turned his palm over in her hand. She dipped the tweezers into the wound and plucked out a bloody shard of glass. 'It'll heal with just a bandage. There's no need to use a spell.'

'Good. For a moment, I thought _stitches_ would be involved,' he said disdainfully. He lowered his head to look at the gash in his hand

Hermione paused for a moment as she dropped a fragment of glass into the empty dish. The sound of glass against porcelain made a faint tinkling sound.

'Were your parents Muggles?'

He stiffened at her words and Hermione wondered if she had gone too far. But, then again, after the way he had spoken to her earlier, she had no obligation to tiptoe around him.

Professor Snape's head darted upwards as he eyed her sharply.

'What makes you think that?' he growled.

'Well, you know about stitches and – '

'Many witches and wizards know about stitches,' he protested loudly. A hot gust of Firewhisky hit her in the face as he snarled at her.

'And you said "for Christ's sake" –'

'And?' he snapped defensively.

Hermione exhaled loudly as she looked at his face. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was puckered into a deep scowl.

'It's not something that I've ever heard in the wizarding world before…Come to think of it, I've never heard of wizarding religion or anything like that –'

'That is because it doesn't exist,' he retorted contemptuously, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not rise to the bait. She remained silent and concentrated on removing a piece of glass that was deeply embedded in the skin between his index finger and his thumb. He grunted slightly as the glass tugged on his skin.

'So…Were they?' she asked after depositing the slice of glass into the dish. Her eyes flickered briefly towards his face.

'Who are you referring to?'

'Your parents,' she replied calmly.

'What about them?'

She looked up at him and gave him a withering look, which would have earned her a detention and twenty House points had he been in a more sober state.

'Were they Muggles?'

He inhaled deeply before lowering his face to the ground, staring down at the floor.

'My mother was a witch,' he said simply.

'And your father was a Muggle,' she finished quietly.

He nodded slowly without looking up at her, but Hermione could detect the bitter scowl on his face, which was pointed at the floor.

'You don't need to be ashamed of –'

'I am _not_ ashamed,' he snarled through gritted teeth, meeting her eyes with a belligerent stare. 'You know nothing…'

Hermione raised her hands in surrender.

'OK, OK! I'm just saying…Do you have to get so _bloody_ defensive? Both of my parents are Muggles!'

'Do not get haughty with me, Miss Granger, I –'

'_You_ don't really have the right to chastise me after the things you said when you stormed in here,' she snapped.

He glowered at her.

'I don't care that he was a _Muggle_. That was never the problem,' he muttered darkly after a long pause.

'What was the problem?' she asked gently, easing another small shard out of his skin.

'None of your business, that's what,' he growled.

Hermione huffed loudly and muttered a sarcastic 'fine' under her breath.

'Don't be so insolent,' he hissed. The scent of Firewhisky wafted through the air as he leaned closer to her. 'Remember that I am _still_ your teacher.'

Hermione ignored him and continued her ministrations as he lowered his head and glowered at his knees.

They sat in silence for several seconds until he eventually spoke.

'I frightened you, earlier…' he murmured softly as he looked into her face, which was set with concentration. 'When I returned.'

'Yes, you did,' she replied testily as she continued to pull segments of glass from the red gash in his palm.

'I should not have tried to scare you,' he admitted in a low voice.

'No, you shouldn't have.'

Her eyes darted upwards to examine the face of the wizard before her. His forehead was crinkled with concentration and he seemed to be deep in thought. But Hermione could not figure out what he was thinking or how he was feeling.

She assumed he felt guilty for his behaviour, but there was something more than shame in his eyes.

'It's OK, sir,' she said politely after several seconds as she returned her gaze to his hand. 'Alcohol affects everybody differently. Sometimes, it can bring out the worst in people…'

'Do you think I'm a bad person?'

Hermione looked up at him in startled confusion.

'No, Professor.'

'Tell me truly.'

For a moment, Hermione forgot that she was talking to her thirty-seven year old teacher; his voice sounded so timid and childlike. There was an anxious, worried tone to his voice like that of a child seeking an adult's solace and comfort.

'No, I don't,' replied Hermione softly. She placed the tweezers on the table and looked into his face. His black eyes were glimmering in the light and a trickle of moisture slithered from the red corner of his eye along the length of his nose.

Hermione inhaled quickly and lowered her head, pretending not to notice the emotion slowly leaking out of him. She did not know how to feel. Sadness, guilt, longing and a slight sense of peacefulness filled her, but she could not begin to source the combination of feelings swirling within her.

Silence resumed its place in the room again as Hermione turned to the task at hand.

The weight of his hand in her own was comforting and the occasional brush of their knees sent shivers up Hermione's spine in a way that was not unpleasant.

Once she was certain that she had removed all of the shards of glass from his hand, she dipped a handkerchief in water and began wiping the blood from his fingers.

'Thank you,' he murmured hoarsely. She chanced a glance up at his face and saw that his eyes were dry once more.

'You're welcome,' she replied in a whisper. Slowly, she wound the long bandage around the slash in his palm until his hand was covered in a thick, white mitten.

'Alcohol,' he said after a while.

Hermione raised her head in confusion.

'Pardon?'

'My father's problem,' he explained simply. Hermione placed his bandaged hand gently on the table and looked up into his face. He was staring at his feet but his voice sounded thick and gruff as he spoke. 'He had a drinking problem. Whenever he drank, he changed…he turned into an animal. The things he did…' he tailed off quietly and Hermione found herself hoping that he would not elaborate.

She extended her hand and laid it gently on his knee. She could think of no words to comfort him but she knew that, at that moment, words were inadequate.

Numbness began to spread through her brain as she watched his uninjured hand move towards her own. His touch felt gentle as his palm covered the back of her hand. Hermione could not tear her eyes away from the sight of him covering her hand with his own.

Slowly, she flipped her hand so that their palms were touching and, cautiously, she closed her fingers over his. Hermione's heart had stopped beating and her brain had stopped working. The only sense that seemed to be functioning was her sight as she looked upon their hands. Her palm was sweating, but her brain could not process embarrassment or any other emotion. It was as if the Firewhisky from his breathe had entered her own head and clouded her senses.

Her eyes flickered to his face, but his eyes were fixed on their hands. She could not read his expression, but he had not removed his hand from her grasp.

The seconds ticked by and Hermione knew that the moment would not last forever. She felt her heart ache when he finally lifted his hand and placed it on the desk.

Hermione blushed as she withdrew her hand from his knee and clasped both of her hands together in her lap.

'It is late. You should return to your dormitory,' he said tonelessly.

Hermione nodded briefly and rose from her chair. She felt light-headed and dizzy as she returned the chair to its original position. Professor Snape also raised himself into a standing position.

'I'll walk you to the fireplace.'

Her legs felt like jelly as she followed him into his private quarters and she could not control the emotions spinning through her.

The amber flames licked against the brickwork of the fireplace, filling the room with a warmth that the classroom did not possess. Hermione turned to face Professor Snape and noted how close he stood in front of her. Their bodies were almost touching as they looked at each other.

Hermione's heart was beating loudly in her chest as her eyes traced the features of his face. The black of his eyes turned brown in the glow of the fireplace and his lips bore the smallest of smiles.

She did not know what came over her as she raised her hand and curled her fingers around his neck. Slowly, she raised her chin and closed the gap between their bodies as she pressed her lips to his own. The numb sensation had returned to her body, filling her with total disregard for their surroundings. The only thing she could focus on was the sweetness of his lips from the alcohol and the warmth of his neck against her fingers and the fact that he had not yet pushed her away.

Her mouth moved of its own accord as it gently nudged his lips open. She could not register emotion or thought as she felt his lips part, allowing her tongue to slip into his mouth. The taste of Firewhisky was stronger than ever as her tongue licked the roof of his mouth.

Until that point, he had remained still and motionless. Professor Snape had not stopped her from kissing him but nor had he returned her kiss.

Until the moment her tongue entered his mouth.

It felt as if the flames from the fire had descended upon her as his hands grasped her waist. His lips had fully separated and moved against hers with a passion that could cause bruising as his tongue began to dance with her own.

Her lips were being pushed against her teeth with the strength of his kiss, which only made her want more of him. He took her tongue between his lips, sucking gently and drawing it further into his mouth.

Hermione's hands felt small as they scaled his spine, pulling him into her. His own hands felt warm as they moved from her waist to her hips and then to her back, massaging gently, but tugging her even closer towards him.

Their wanton passion began to cool and ebb and their fervent kiss became more gentle and soft. The movements of his lips became slow and tender as he withdrew his tongue from her mouth. Hermione's hands slid down his back and rested at his waist as their lips moved gently against each other.

Slowly, she felt the warmth at her waist evaporate and the feel of his hot mouth also disappeared as he stepped away from her.

Hermione felt frightened as she looked into his face. She feared she would see regret and guilt etched onto his features. But, as she met his gaze, he was looking at her intently and Hermione could not guess how he felt.

'I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that,' she murmured softly, staring into his eyes. The flames were reflected in his irises, writhing and squirming.

He stepped towards her and, for a magical moment, Hermione thought he would kiss her again.

'Go to bed, Hermione,' he whispered. His face was expressionless as he gazed at her.

Hermione shook her head in bewilderment: She did not know if it was the effect of the Firewhisky or if he simply _wanted_ to kiss her. But the fact that he did not seem to show any signs of alarm at having kissed his student confused her.

'Wait…' she said, placing a hand on his arm. 'What was that? I mean…Do you – do you _like_ me? Or, was that just –'

He looked at her hand on his arm, before stepping towards the pot of Floo powder on the mantelpiece. Grasping a handful of green powder, he flung it into the flames, which turned a vibrant shade of green.

Hermione stepped into the fireplace and turned to face him as she felt the flames pull her towards her dormitory.

'Would I have kissed you if I did not?'

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke the next morning with an almost painful fluttering sensation in her gut. It felt as if she had swallowed a live bat, trying its hardest to escape from her stomach. The wings continued to flap violently as she rose from her bed and got dressed.<p>

The memory of the night before made her feel weak at the knees and robbed her of her ability to think straight. Her thoughts were constantly interrupted by mental images of his eyes after they had kissed and the way he had held her.

In her mind's eye, it seemed so surreal that she was beginning to wonder if it had actually happened. If it weren't for the fact that her skin continued to tingle where he had touched her, she would put it all down to a dream.

All her life, Hermione had imagined feeling this way about someone. She felt elated as she recalled the intensity of their kiss, but her elation was tinged with anxiety and fear as she considered the possibility that he did not feel as strongly for her as she did for him.

Although he had admitted to liking her, he had also been drunk. Extremely drunk. But the positive part of her brain told her that he had sobered up almost entirely by the time they kissed.

However, another voice sounded. Truthful and disheartening. Their relationship would never go beyond that kiss. He was a teacher and a Death Eater spy and twenty years older than her. When she was born, he had already joined Voldemort's ranks. There were so many reasons why their relationship would never grow.

_But why did he kiss me back?_

* * *

><p>His face was the colour of chalk and his black hair hung limply against his cheeks. His hangover was as plain as day and as obvious as the purple bags beneath his eyes. He shot her a brief glance as Hermione entered the Great Hall.<p>

Harry and Ron were already lined up in front of Professor McGonagall as they waited for the Apparition lessons to begin. It was the exact same set up as last time and the four Heads of House stood at the front of the Hall before their sixth-year students.

As Hermione approached the front of the Gryffindor line, where Harry and Ron stood, she overheard the conversation between Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.

'Late night, Severus?' asked Professor McGonagall crisply. Her eyes glittered as she looked at him.

'Unfortunately so, Minerva,' he replied as he rubbed his forehead.

'What happened to your hand?' she asked curiously as she looked at the white bandages wrapped around his palm.

'Broken glass,' he muttered dryly.

His face was blank and expressionless as he looked at Hermione but he continued to look at her for several minutes until Blaise Zabini caught his attention.

'I've forgotten the three Ds,' muttered Ron despairingly.

'Oh, Merlin! So have I…' groaned Neville. 'What are they? I know the first one is _Determination_…But I've forgotten the rest of them!'

'Determination…and…' muttered Ron, rubbing his temples. 'Desecration…No, that's not right…'

'Destination,' supplied Hermione helpfully.

'What's the last one?' asked Neville urgently.

'Deliberation, Mr Longbottom,' replied Professor McGonagall in a clipped tone. 'Determination. Destination. Deliberation.'

'I'll never remember all that,' he muttered as he ran his hands through his hair.

'It's not hard, Neville,' said Harry encouragingly.

'I get nervous and panic and then I forget everything. It's like how I feel around Professor Snape! I know what I'm doing and then I get nervous and everything spills out of my head,' explained a rather panicked Neville.

For the first time in her life, Hermione could relate to that feeling and she was very aware of Professor Snape's eyes on the back of her head. She had no idea how he would behave that evening when she went to his classroom to work on her dissertation. But she had a feeling that he would not be as amorous or open as he had been the previous evening.

'Where's Lavender?' she asked Ron as she craned her neck over the crowd of Gryffindors that stood behind them. Hermione had noted the absence of the blonde-haired Gryffindor and her deadly glowers.

'She hates these Apparition lessons, so she's pretending to be ill,' explained Ron.

'We've only had one,' said Hermione incredulously.

At that moment, Wilkie Twycross appeared and strode through the Great Hall towards Professor McGonagall.

'Excuse my tardiness, Professors,' he said as he approached the line of teachers. 'I was delayed at the Ministry.'

The frail wisp of a man turned to face the students and held both hands up in the air to indicate that he wanted silence. It was a grandiose gesture that only the likes of Dumbledore could pull off and so the students continued to natter loudly, unaware of the Apparition instructor.

It was only when Professor McGonagall _and_ Professor Snape simultaneously barked at the students that the Hall fell into complete silence.

'Thank you,' said Twycross, bowing his head towards the teachers. 'Same as last time, everyone! Spread yourselves out! Give yourselves plenty of room.'

The students did as he bid and afterwards the wooden hoops appeared before every student.

'Now, who can tell me what the three D's stand for?'

Hermione's hand was the first to shoot into the air.

'Yes, my dear?' said Twycross politely as he nodded to her.

'Determination. Destination. Deliberation,' she replied with a small smile.

'Excellent! You're absolutely correct,' he said, clapping his liver-spotted hands together as he beamed at her. 'On the count of three, I want you all to have another attempt at Apparating into your hoop. Remember the three Ds!'

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated as well as she could before turning on the spot. Suddenly, she felt a strange squeezing sensation around her abdomen, but she was so surprised that she lost her concentration and her eyes snapped open.

All around her, students had fallen over and were lying on the hard ground. Nobody had succeeded in Apparating. However Hermione was pleased that she had managed to keep herself upright. Next time, she just had to focus on moving with deliberation.

'Nevermind,' said Twycross in an almost bored tone of voice. 'Get back on your feet and reposition your hoops.'

There was a great amount of grumbling among the students as they rubbed their backsides and glowered at the tiny wizard in front of them.

'Let's have another go! Three, two, one…Go!'

This time, she squeezed her eyelids shut and focused on moving forward. Her foot moved with deliberation as she spun on the spot and allowed the squeezing sensation to take over her body.

When she opened her eyes, Hermione found herself standing in the centre of her hoop.

'Brilliant! Absolutely marvellous,' announced Wilkie Twycross. Hermione looked around to see the instructor standing on her left, beaming widely at her.

'Ten points to Gryffindor,' said Professor McGonagall as she smiled at Hermione.

Hermione's eyes met Professor Snape's and although he did not smile at her, he bowed his head into a slight nod.

'Excellent work, Miss – '

'Granger,' replied Hermione as she looked at the tiny instructor.

'Splendid, Miss Granger! You're a fast learner. That was the perfect combination of the three D's!' said Twycross as he smiled proudly.

She Apparated successfully throughout the duration of the lesson, earning Twycross' admiration. No other person had managed to Apparate without Splinching a body part. Neville managed to leave his left ear at one side of the Great Hall. At the end of the lesson, Twycross gave her a smile and a wink as he exited the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron made their way through the crowd of students towards her.

'Well done, Hermione,' said Harry as they approached her.

'I think Twycross has a thing for you, Hermione..."Such excellent balance and a perfect central position within the hoop!"' he mimicked. 'D'you think he'll pop the question sometime soon?' Ron joked as he grinned at her.

'Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley,' interjected a familiar voice. 'It may be the weekend, but my tolerance towards juvenile jokes and immaturity has not increased in the slightest.'

Ron gaped incredulously at Professor Snape before closing his mouth.

'I'd better go find Lavender,' he muttered, shooting Professor Snape a dark look. 'See you later,' he said as he addressed Harry and Hermione. On that note, he disappeared as fast as if he had Apparated.

'Miss Granger,' began Professor Snape. 'I have some private business to attend to in my classroom this evening and so you will be unable to come to work on your potion. If you are free, you may work on your potion this afternoon.'

Hermione felt her insides turn to liquid as she looked at him. To think that she had kissed him made her knees buckle under her weight.

'Of course, Professor,' she replied quietly. She turned to Harry and smiled at him softly. 'See you in the common room, Harry.'

Her entire body tingled as she followed Professor Snape to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>When they arrived inside his classroom, Professor Snape headed towards his desk and lowered his body into the chair.<p>

Hermione stood at the other side of his table and waited anxiously for him to speak.

'Well?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Get on with your work.

His words felt like a blow to her stomach but she hid her emotions behind her blank facial expression.

'Aren't we going to talk about it?'

'About what?' he asked impatiently.

'About what happened last night,' she said gently.

A moment of silence passed between them.

'Nothing happened last night,' he stated simply. His eyes were fixed on the wall behind her.

'Do...Do you not remember?' She asked. Hermione wracked her brains, trying to recall how drunk he had been.

'I remember returning to my classroom and walking you to the fireplace.'

'And?'

'And nothing, Miss Granger.'

'We kissed.'

'We did not. Perhaps, you were dreaming.'

Hermione inhaled heavily and raised her hand to her forehead. The bat inside her stomach had reawakened and was fighting desperately for freedom.

'You can't do this,' she began quietly as she lowered her face. 'I _really_ care for you…and you _know_ I do…and you don't even have the guts to acknowledge what happened.'

'Miss Granger, I do not have the slightest idea of what you are talking about...'

'Give over,' she snapped, glaring coldly at him.

The room filled with an awkward silence.

'I admit that I should not have kissed you,' said Hermione, swallowing thickly. 'But you did not throw me off or push me away, you responded with equal ardour.'

Sullenly, he raised his head until his eyes were level her own.

'You are my student, I am your teacher,' he said in grave tone. 'Look at this situation rationally, Hermione. I would lose my job and be thrown into Azkaban! Not to mention the danger it would place you in, if word got back to my…_other_ employer.'

'If that all mattered so much to you, then, why did you kiss me back?' she asked directly.

'It's that infernal potion!' he shouted, pointing towards the phial of Amortentia by the sink. He banged his good hand on the desk as if to reinforce his point. 'It's creating these absurd fantasies and feelings…It is an _illusion_, Hermione, created by an extremely powerful potion.'

'That's rubbish and you know it. It would be different if I had been pouring the potion into your pumpkin juice every morning, but the fumes, alone, aren't strong enough to sway your mind and your actions,' she replied.

'This will never happen,' he said coldly. 'What you want from me…will _never_ happen.'

'We're at war, Severus –'

'I never gave you permission to use my first name,' he interrupted sharply.

Hermione gave him a withering look.

'People are dying everywhere at every moment of every day,' she continued. 'I hope that Voldemort will be killed and that our side will win. But if we lose, and we all die, I want to die knowing that I never gave up on the person I cared about...'

'Your affections are wasted on me, you would be better to set your cap at one of your classmates –'

Hermione gave a humourless laugh.

'I did not choose to feel this way. If I could change the way I feel about you, I would gladly do so. But, unfortunately, I had no choice in the matter. I was content to go on living as your student, and nothing more, until you kissed me back last night.'

Severus could not conceal the fear behind his deadpan expression.

'People who are right together can sometimes find each other through circumstances, which maybe don't seem right. That doesn't mean that they don't deserve to be with each other,' said Hermione softly.

She remained rooted to the spot and stared resolutely at him. Severus held her gaze for a brief moment before dropping his eyes to his desk.

Cautiously, she took a step towards him and the sudden movement caused his head to jerk upwards. He scraped his chair backwards along the floor and stood up, away from his desk. He took slow, measured steps around his desk until he was standing in front of her. Hermione continued to step closer to him.

She slid her arms around his neck, holding him tightly to her, and gently nuzzled his lips with her own. Unlike last time, the numbness had gone and she felt as if her senses and the speed of her thoughts had heightened considerably.

Hermione felt nervous and novice as she pressed her lips to him. She had kissed Viktor Krum many times, but that had been over two years ago and she had not felt half as strongly for Viktor as she did for the man before her. Viktor had also been not much older than herself, but Professor Snape was twenty years older and far more experienced. She shook those thoughts out of her head as she planted gentle kisses against his lips.

He struggled against her ministrations for half a second before succumbing to the gentle assault of her lips. Tentatively, his hands reached up and stroked the back of her head, burying his fingers in the mass of curls. His tongue slipped between her lips and into her mouth.

Their tongues tangled with each other and she pushed herself more firmly against his body. But, before the kiss could reach a new level of intensity, he pushed her away and stormed out of the classroom.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Everything had changed. Yet, somehow, things did not feel much different from the way they were before. He ignored her in the corridors, in the classroom and at mealtimes. When she descended to the dungeons, to work on her dissertation, he was absent. This routine continued for two whole weeks. Every time she walked by him, his eyes darted away from her. Only once in the past fortnight had their eyes met, allowing Hermione to truly understand how he felt. He was not angry, of that she was sure. It was pure shame that filled his eyes.

He was ashamed of himself.

Hermione knew that she was equally as responsible for the two kisses that they had shared, possibly even more so than him. But Severus would not view the situation that way. She knew that her teacher believed himself to be solely culpable.

In the two weeks that had passed, she had stolen brief glimpses of him at the High Table, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and in the corridor. But it was the memory of their last kiss that sustained her. She could remember everything about it: the way his hands had tangled in her hair, the softness of his tongue that had gently teased her own and the warmth of his body pressed against her. However, she had not forgotten the force with which he had pushed her away from him, causing her to stumble backwards. By the time she had looked up, he had fled.

Cold, phantom fingers grabbed her shoulders and pushed her every time she thought of the kiss. She had not forgotten about the other factors that would be plaguing his mind: his role as a double-agent, their pupil-teacher relationship and the trouble that could have ensued had they been discovered. The board of governors would have dismissed him immediately from his teaching post and he would never attain another position in education again. Hermione felt a sharp stab of guilt as she weighed up the worries that he bore, knowing that it was she who had created them.

She had owed it to Severus to leave him alone. After all he had done for her, to return his kindness and efforts with constant badgering and persistence would have been nothing short of selfish. A fog of fear and anxiety was slowly spreading among the students. Two students had already been taken from their classes to be informed of the deaths of their families. Uncertainty was the only certainty of war. That, and death. Safety and survival were not guaranteed and it was this fact that made Hermione's stomach twist with nervousness as she cast her eyes towards his empty seat at mealtimes. There was no assurance for anyone. Hermione thought of her neighbour who had been murdered in her own house. She imagined her own home and the way it would look now: It would be unrecognisable to her. By the end of the war, millions of homes would be destroyed and more lives would be lost. Hermione knew that her own could easily be one of them. The war had already cost her her house and her safety. Severus was the only bright spot on a horizon of death and misery.

He would break her heart or he would take her heart, but either way, Hermione knew she did not want to die feeling regret. Not when he had given her hope.

She wondered if he thought of her as much as she thought of him. It was unlikely, but the brief fantasy gave her comfort. Her arms wrapped around the pillow, pretending that it was his body she was holding close to her. It did not work. The pillow was too cold and it was impossible to imagine. Easing her body off of the creaky mattress, she rose to her feet and reached for her wand on the nightstand. Hermione tiptoed towards her trunk at the foot of her bed, where her dressing gown lay, and silently slipped her arms into the soft, satin material.

For several moments, she stood beside her bed, wondering if this was the worst idea or the best idea she had had in the past fortnight.

All of a sudden, her feet began to move towards the door. It was as if her brain and her body had split apart. Her mind was screaming in protest, but her feet were listening to her heart and the fluttering sensation in her stomach that she felt every time she thought of him. Her fingers nimbly closed the heavy door with a gentle click so as to not wake Lavender and Parvati. The Fat Lady groaned irritably in her sleep as Hermione pushed through the portrait hole. But, fortunately, the painted woman did not stir.

Hermione immediately stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of her hands swinging by her side. She had forgotten to perform a Disillusionment charm. Cursing herself inwardly for her stupidity, Hermione withdrew her wand and cast the spell, watching her slippers disappear. She began to wonder if she was turning into Lavender; her logic and rationality, even her control over her emotions, was rapidly disappearing.

Hermione shook herself and tried to concentrate on the long walk from the Gryffindor common room to the dungeons. She had to be alert and vigilant in order to avoid the numerous teachers and ghosts on patrol. Even Mrs Norris could be lurking in one of the castle's many dark corridors, waiting to catch her.

Her footsteps moved noiselessly along the long corridors and for that she was extremely grateful. It was only when she came to the marble staircases that her slippers began to skid and slide, causing her to lose her balance several times. As luck would have it, she prevented herself from tumbling down the stairs and gripped tightly onto the bannister. To Hermione's great relief, the corridors were deserted and she did not encounter any teachers or ghosts on her way.

But, as she was descending the staircase towards the dungeons, she spotted a familiar figure drifting along the ceiling. Peeves, the mischievous spectre, halted abruptly and inhaled deeply.

'Oooh, what's this? An ickle student out of bed mayhaps...tut, tut, wandering the corridors at night…Show yourself, don't be shy,' he said with an evil grin.

The poltergeist could not _see_ her; on the contrary, he seemed to be smelling her out. He continued to sniff the air around him and slowly began to glide in Hermione's direction. After several seconds, he was almost close enough to hear her heavy breathing.

Hermione wished Ron was with her. He always managed to do a passable imitation of the Bloody Baron – the one ghost in the castle who Peeves was afraid of. If she tried to imitate the Bloody Baron, she would probably end up sounding more like Winkie the house elf than the terrifying chained ghost.

'Aha! A girl methinks! Pretty, flowery scent…Hmmm…What would an ickle girly be doing wandering the corridors at –'

'PEEVES!'

Hermione jumped in alarm and toppled down the stairs, landing in a heap on the cold stone floor.

Professor Snape's flickered to the foot of the stairs for half a second before turning towards the poltergeist.

'Who are you talking to?'

'I smelled a student,' replied Peeves, lowering his head in feigned humbleness, but his eyes continued to gleam wickedly. 'A girl, I think…'

'I don't smell anything.'

'Pardon my rudeness, Professor Snapey, but my sense of smell is much better than yours…Meaning no disrespect, of course,' he said with a playful smirk. 'She's over there, I'm sure of it.'

His ghostly hand pointed towards the foot of the stairs where Hermione lay. Her heart jumped to her mouth.

'There's no one there, Peeves. My security sensors detect the presence of any magical beings,' he explained coldly. 'There is no one there. Now, leave me in peace and stop making such a racket.'

Peeves blew a loud raspberry before floating out of sight.

Hermione eyed Professor Snape warily. She was not sure if he could see her or if he even knew she was there. Slowly, he turned back towards the door of his classroom. But, to her surprise, he held the door open.

'Well, are you coming in? Or are you more comfortable on the floor?'

He did not look at her as he spoke, keeping his eyes focused on the wall ahead. Hermione got to her feet and entered the classroom.

Severus glanced quickly along the corridor before closing the door. He pulled out his wand from the sleeve of his nightshirt and locked the door before pointing it towards Hermione. It felt as if she was standing under a tap of cool, running water and slowly her body began to reappear.

'What are you doing here?' he asked quietly. Hermione looked up at him and saw that his face and eyes were pointed towards the ground at her feet.

'I wanted to see you.'

Hermione cursed her lack of preparation; she had not thought of what she would say to him if he did let her in.

He did not move or speak.

'I – I…' she faltered as she searched for the words that she wanted to say. 'I missed you.'

His eyes flickered and he tilted his face upwards away from the floor. It was impossible to read his expression.

'You are shivering,' he noted crisply, 'we will discuss this through there.' He nodded towards the door leading to his private rooms.

Hermione led the way and lowered herself into the armchair she had sat in several months before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But she would never forget the helpless state he had been in or the blood that had gushed from his wounds. Severus sat in the opposite armchair as he had done that evening and slowly raised his head to look at her.

Her fingers felt numb and weightless as she extended her hand towards him and gently rubbed his cheek. He did not stop her or push her away. The palm of her hand pressed against his cheek while her fingertips glided along his cheekbone. With slow, gradual movements, she tilted her body forward, leaning in to kiss him.

The skin of his hand felt red-hot as it slithered along her forearm from her elbow to her wrist. His grasp tightened around her hand as he drew her fingers away from his cheek. Hermione sat upright as she looked at the coldness in his stare.

'This ends right now,' he whispered dangerously. His fingers had not let go of her hand. If anything, his grasp seemed to be tightening. 'I am deadly serious. Stop.'

'You've given me so many reasons as to why this shouldn't go any further...But, _my_ reasons are just as valid,' she said softly. She placed her other hand on his knee.

His features shifted into a scowl and he glowered at the hand resting on his leg.

'_Your_ reasons are not important, Hermione. What if the Headmaster finds out? What if my..._other_ master finds out?'

'What about the fact that you're the Order's secret agent? You've kept that hidden from him for several years…I am sure that you will be able to keep our relationship a secret –'

'So, you would add to my burden?' he asked her coldly. 'I have enough secrets to hide from him without _this_. An affair with a student…And Muggle-born to boot.'

His hold on her hand tightened painfully. But it did not hurt half as much as his words.

'I am sorry,' she replied. 'I know I sound so self-serving and selfish...It's just that…' Her voice trailed off into silence.

His grip loosened but he did not let go of her hand.

'There would be no future for…us,' he said plainly.

'There might be no future for any of us,' she countered. 'Nobody wants to die with regret.'

He said nothing but continued to stare at her, holding her hand. But it was not a tender gesture, it was a means of distancing himself from her to control their proximity.

'I shan't push you,' she whispered. 'But –'

'Stop it.' He pushed her hand away and rubbed his face with his palms.

'Severus, how do you feel? About –'

'I do not know how I feel.'

He cringed and Hermione saw a wave of shame ripple through him. She removed her hand from his knee and placed it in her lap.

'I – I thought it was...a _passing_ fancy,' he hissed, wrinkling his face in revulsion. It seemed to cause him great pain to even speak of it. '...brought on by the potion and the increased amount of time that we have been spending together...'

'And, now?'

'Now...' he repeated. 'I do not know. But I had _never_ intended to act upon it.' He snorted. 'I take my job very seriously and to think that I have...gone _beyond_ the boundaries of propriety with a student...I am nothing short of disgusted with myself.'

Hermione said nothing and looked at her hands resting in her lap. She knew if she spoke that she would only make the situation worse. When his moods turned to self-loathing, he was most certainly at his most dangerous. But, given his current lifestyle, Hermione could not blame him for his temper and she could hardly imagine the chaos going on inside his head. He balanced a myriad of struggles and stresses. One wrong move and it would cost him his life.

When she thought of their situation from his point of view, with his burden, the truth was that it was unfair and horribly selfish of her to expect so much from him.

Despite her wants, she could not ask him to do something that he was not readily willing to do.

'I – It was selfish of me to expect you to risk everything for...'

'Hermione...'

'You know what you have to do...No one else can make that decision for you.'

Their eyes met and Hermione tried hard to maintain a blank expression, but her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she waited in anticipation of what he would say. She knew he would dismiss her, but some small part of her hoped that he would choose her...that his feelings were strong enough to take on another risk.

He was the first to break their eye-contact.

'I should not have kissed you back,' he said finally. His words hurt, but they were not unexpected. 'It was foolish of me to mislead you.'

Hermione nodded.

'I understand, sir...We – we can put it down to being a...mistake.'

She rose from the armchair and made her way to the door.

Hermione felt him behind her as he followed her through his quarters to the door of his classroom.

'Given the circumstances, I should insist that you go with Professor Slughorn if you require help with your dissertation...'

'Professor,' she interrupted him. 'It never happened. It is...as it has always been. Professor Snape and Miss Granger. The esteemed, yet snarky Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Little-Miss-Know-It-All...'

She had hoped to make him smile, but his lips did not move as he continued to stare at her.

'Forgive me,' he murmured.

Hermione forced her lips to assume a smile; she did not want him to hate himself any more than he already did. The only way to do that was to show him that she was alright. But his eyes sparkled in the dim light of the classroom and the guilt and shame that he felt were emblazoned upon his features.

'There's nothing to forgive,' she said lightly. As she said it, she realised it was true: She did not regret either kiss. Although it ended there, Hermione felt a small shred of joy in the knowledge that she had attracted the attention of the best man she had ever met. She only wished that they had encountered each other in different circumstances. She felt a pain in her chest that had nothing to do with the burn she had received from Dolohov and she hastily turned towards the door.

'Don't forget...Disillusionment charm,' he said. But, before she could withdraw her wand, he pulled out his own and cast the spell. Hermione dropped her eyes to her feet and watched her body disappear, until she was looking at the cold, stone ground. She gave him a smile that he could not see and stepped away from him.

Suddenly, his hand shot out in mid-air, clamping around her wrist. Hermione looked down: She could see nothing except his curled fingers, but she could feel the tight pressure around her wrist. Hermione wondered if there was something lurking in the corridor that she could not see. She turned to face him and opened her mouth to ask.

But he was not looking along the corridor, his eyes were fixed upon her invisible form.

The fingers of his other hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her towards him and, with a gentle groan, he crushed her lips against his.

Hermione returned the kiss with equal passion. His fingers dropped to the her neck and began to cradle her head while his other hand moved from her wrist and gently held her chin.

The movements of his tongue were gentle and teasing as his hands supported her head, stroking her chin and her neck. Hermione's own hands held the door-frame, supporting her invisible body as he assaulted her mouth, holding her head between his hands. Her knees felt weak as she opened her mouth to allow his tongue deeper into her mouth. It was over as soon as it had started and he gently withdrew his tongue from her mouth.

Slowly, their lips broke apart, but he did not let go of her head. His eyes were fixed upon her face, which was invisible to his gaze.

* * *

><p>'Will you put that bloody map away?' said Ron in exasperation. He sighed heavily as he looked at Harry.<p>

His spine was curved over the old, stained parchment resting on his lap and his face was hidden by the mop of untidy black hair, covering his head.

'Morning, you two,' said Hermione as she arrived at the Gryffindor table. She suppressed a loud yawn behind her hand as she sat on the bench opposite Harry and Ron.

'Finally, someone to talk to!' Ron exclaimed. 'Do you know that we've been here for half an hour and all he's done is stare at that ruddy map?'

'Shut up a minute, Ron,' said Harry without looking up. 'I'm trying to find him…'

'If you're looking for Malfoy, he's sitting right behind you with the Slytherins,' replied Hermione coolly as she pulled a bowl of cereal towards her.

'What the –' Harry turned round in his seat and glanced across at the Slytherin table. 'Oh. Right. I didn't see him come in.'

Harry folded the map and replaced it inside his school bag, wearing a glum expression.

'Good. Now you can stop ignoring me,' said Ron cheerily. 'For the past several weeks, you've been looking non-stop at that map!'

'Oh, that's rich, coming from _you_. All _I've_ done for the past several weeks is watch you and Lavender snog –'

'Will the pair of you shut up?' asked Hermione, rubbing her temples. Her conversation with Snape had shed some clarity on their situation and their relationship, until he had kissed her again. 'I can't be bothered listening to you bicker.'

'I'm only _saying_,' said Ron defensively. 'You're becoming obsessed with him…He's not even doing anything! He's sitting with Crabbe and Goyle guzzling pumpkin juice!'

'He's up to something, I know it! You'll see…it's just a case of finding out what it is…'

'Enough!' groaned Hermione. 'Can't we eat breakfast without discussing Malfoy?'

'Alright,' muttered Harry irritably. 'I didn't even start this conversation! It was Ron who started going on about –'

'Don't blame me! I'm the one sitting here looking like Billy No-Mates while you read that bloody map!'

'Ron! Give it a rest!' snapped Hermione.

'OK, OK, don't get your knickers in a twist,' muttered Ron, shoving the porridge spoon into his mouth.

'Thank you,' said Hermione curtly.

Hermione resisted the urge to let her head fall into her bowl of porridge and take a nap. Even keeping her eyes open was a struggle. She had spent the better part of the night wrapped in her duvet, thinking about the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It would have been so much easier if they had left things the way they were before he had kissed her at the door, leaving her confused and bewildered. Hermione did not know if it was a meaningless kiss or if it was a gesture showing that he had changed his mind or if it was an act of mindless impulse.

The memory of every kiss sent chills up her spine and, even in her sleep-deprived state, she could not stop a smile from forming on her lips. But Hermione knew he would always struggle against her for as long as their situation remained as it was. He was her teacher and the guilt about kissing a student would never leave him.

'What's wrong, Hermione?' asked Harry.

Hermione's head snapped upwards and saw both Harry and Ron looking at her concernedly.

'Oh, nothing, nothing,' she replied hastily. 'Just – er – thinking about McGonagall's test today.'

Hermione returned to her thoughts about Severus while the two boys mocked her for her frenetic approach to studying, bringing up the boggart that she had failed to defeat in her third year.

She felt a twinge of anxiety as she imagined their next meeting. Hermione could not help but wonder how he would react in her presence.

Harry and Ron rose from the table and hooked their bags over their shoulders.

'You coming? Or are you going to sit here all day?'

Severus barely gave her a second look as they entered the classroom and behaved as if he could not even see her. Fortunately, his newfound short-sightedness had not been spotted by any of her classmates, but it did nothing to ease Hermione's concern and confusion over their relationship.

Lavender had returned to the class and so Hermione was sitting next to Neville and Parvati. Neville's frequent blunders meant that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's eyes strayed frequently towards their table. Nevertheless, as usual, he was oblivious to Hermione.

'This may be a _N.E.W.T._ level Defence Against the Dark Arts class…' he began in a low voice. 'However, from the work that I have seen from this class so far, I am surprised that most of you scraped your way through the O.W.L. exam. If it weren't for the inconsistent teaching of this subject and the Headmaster's leniency regarding the entry requirements, ninety percent of you would not be here.' Professor Snape paused for several moments to allow his words to take effect.

Hermione swallowed the indignation she felt rising within her and imagined the look that had appeared on his face just before he kissed her. She pictured the way his eyelids fluttered shut, the softness of his lips as they moved against her lips and the warmth of his hands that held her head.

'Miss Granger, are you listening to me?'

Hermione jumped in her seat and turned a fiery shade of scarlet as the class turned to look at her. Professor Snape was glowering at her from the front of the classroom with his arms folded.

'Of course, sir.'

'As I was saying...Your attempts at non-verbal spells in this class thus far have been pitiful. May I remind you that your non-verbal Patronus charms were appalling. I want you to divide into pairs. One of you will cast a _non_-verbal minor jinx while the other will attempt to throw off the spell with a silent Disarming Charm...I dare say most of your Disarming Charms could do with extra practice,' he snarled as his lips twisted into a smirk. 'Now, into pairs, all of you!'

To Hermione's dismay, she was paired with Neville who was so nervous that he kept dropping his wand.

'Just _relax_, Neville,' she hissed. 'Do you want to cast the jinx or shall I?'

'Er – you do it,' he said, adjusting the sleeves of his robes. 'I'm rubbish with jinxes…'

She nodded as she withdrew her wand from her pocket.

'You may begin,' announced Professor Snape to the class.

As she expected, Neville was caught unawares by her Jelly-Legs Jinx and his legs began to collapse beneath him.

'Pitiful, Longbottom.' Professor Snape strode towards them and silently removed the jinx from Neville's legs. 'Miss Granger, stand to the side. Mr Longbottom, I am going to cast the jinx and I want you to repel it. _Concentrate_, foolish boy.'

By the end of the lesson, Neville was covered in bruises from his frequent collisions with various tables, chairs and the hard floor.

'I'm hopeless,' he muttered miserably. 'He just makes me so nervous, I can't focus. I _know_ how to perform non-verbal spells and I know how to disarm someone…I just can't do it when he's there.'

'You'll get the hang of it eventually, mate,' said Ron, clapping Neville on the shoulder.

'I'm just going to nip to the loo,' said Harry suddenly. 'Tell McGonagall will you?'

'She won't be happy,' said Hermione reprovingly. 'We've got that test today.'

'I'll be two minutes!' he insisted before scampering out of sight.

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks of suspicion as they watched Harry hurry towards the toilets.

Once inside the Transfiguration classroom, her lips stretched into a wide grin as her eyes scanned the test questions on the sheet of parchment before her. In truth, she had felt rather anxious about the test as her studying had been seriously affected by her dissertation – among other things. But she knew from a glance that she would have no trouble providing detailed answers to the questions on the paper in front of her.

'Late, Potter! Sit down quietly and get started on your test. Your classmates have already begun,' said the Transfiguration teacher.

Hermione's eyes flickered upwards to see Harry bounding towards her desk with a gleeful expression on his face.

'Malfoy's bunked off,' he whispered as he sat down next to her.

'What?' she asked in a low hiss.

'He's supposed to be in Charms with the rest of the Slytherins but he – '

'Potter!' snapped Professor McGonagall.

'I'll tell you later,' he muttered as he pulled his test paper towards him.

'I have definitely failed that test,' announced Ron morosely after they had exited the Transfiguration classroom.

'Really? I didn't think it was too bad,' said Hermione, shrugging her shoulders. 'I think I answered the Animagus question OK…There was a couple that I struggled with, like the one about –'

'Won-Won!'

Hermione took that as her cue to scurry ahead to walk beside Neville and Harry. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw Lavender looping her arm through Ron's elbow before planting a wet kiss on his cheek.

'Hermione!' exclaimed Harry. 'About Malfoy…I saw him! The rest of the Slytherins were lining up outside Flitwick's classroom, but he was walking away towards the other side of the castle…'

'Did you see where he was going?' she asked curiously.

'I – er – well…no, OK, I didn't see where he went. But the fact that he's sneaking off during class time, that's something isn't it?'

'Hmm, I suppose. But…I don't know…Maybe, he just hadn't done his Charms homework or something…'

Harry sighed in exasperation and strode away from her. Hermione rolled her eyes and headed towards her Arithmancy classroom. There were times when she truly relished the fact that Harry and Ron did not take N.E.W.T. Arithmancy. The solitude allowed her to clear her head and forget all about the boys and their troubles. For the entire hour, Hermione tried her hardest to focus on her the subject at hand and not allow her thoughts to stray to Harry or Ron or, even, Malfoy.

* * *

><p>'Come in.'<p>

Hermione's heart was trying its hardest to flee from her chest as she stepped over the threshold of the dungeon classroom. He rose from his chair the moment their eyes met and Hermione's heart suddenly fell limp inside her. His expression was impossible to read as he looked at her. She could not stop herself from wondering what he was thinking and if he had spent the day remembering the previous evening as she had done.

As she looked at him she realised she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against her. She wanted to feel his tongue between her lips and the burning warmth of his mouth moving slowly down her neck and along her collarbone. Hermione wanted his fingers to intertwine with her hair, pulling her closer to him while his other hand held the small of her back.

'I have laid the potion-brewing equipment out on the desk for you,' he said quietly, not taking his eyes off of her.

'Thank you,' she replied. Her feet did not move and she found herself incapable of breaking their eye-contact.

Severus walked out from behind his desk and strode towards the table laden with various pieces of apparatus. Hermione followed him and helped him to assemble the equipment. She uncorked the phial of partially-brewed Amortentia and poured the pink fluid into the cauldron. As they worked their fingers accidentally brushed, sending a jolt of warmth through Hermione. She inhaled sharply as her finger brushed against the smooth skin of his knuckle. She imagined his fingers stroking her back and sliding down her torso, cupping her breasts and skating over her ribs, before she hastily shook the fantasy from her mind.

He did not jerk his hand away from her when they touched, but Hermione edged further away from him as they worked. It was his decision. He had verbalised his desire to continue their professional, platonic relationship. But, Hermione could not stop herself from thinking about the kiss and wondered if and how she should broach the subject with him.

After an hour of working in silence, she heard him exhale heavily as he slammed a beaker onto the table surface with unnecessary force.

'I cannot do this,' he muttered. His fingers combed his hair as he began to pace.

'What's the matter?'

'Everything.'

'Start with the first thing,' she said gently.

'I imagine you already _know_ what the first thing is,' he replied sharply.

'I could hazard a guess,' she said tentatively. 'I thought we had agreed to go on as normal...It was just a mistake. It won't inhibit our work together...'

'A mistake that happened _three_ times...' he muttered darkly. There was a faint groan in his tone as he spoke.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond.

'I know,' he snapped, holding his hands up. 'You are not to blame for the last incident...I am a fool,' he muttered bitterly.

'Severus...'

'What?' he snapped.

'Why did you do it again? You said that you did not want –'

Hermione jumped as he brought the palm of his hand onto the table.

'My decision was not made on account of what I _want_. For a very long time, my decisions have never been made to acquire or to facilitate what I _want_. This is...highly inappropriate. I have beseeched the Headmaster several times about an exchange with Slughorn.'

'What did he say?'

'The Headmaster refuses to consent...He blethered on about the magical education authorities and their strict policy on dissertations. Apparently, students cannot be assisted in their subjects by more than one professor.'

'That seems rather tenuous...'

'I believe the Headmaster finds our new friendship amusing, however, I doubt that he would chuckle so freely if he found out the _exact_ nature of our relationship.'

Hermione could not stop the smile from surfacing on her lips.

'You called me your friend?'

'Of course, not. But Albus interpreted my concern for the welfare of yourself and your parents as evidence of my caring for you...In a strictly platonic sense, of course. He may advocate love and its magical potency, but there are boundaries...which you and I, incidentally, have completely crossed –'

'Well, not _completely_, Severus.'

He fixed her with a murderous glare.

'Do not even go there.'

He resumed his pacing, muttering to himself as he walked. Hermione watched him as he moved, before sighing loudly.

'What other options do we have, Severus? The Headmaster refuses to appoint Professor Slughorn with the task of taking over so it looks like we are stuck in this position, I –'

'If your next brainstorm is to suggest that we make the most of it, I will –'

'I was about to suggest,' she continued testily, 'that we come up with a solution to make this situation easier for both of us. I will work on my dissertation on my own in the library and, if I have a question, I shall send you an owl. As for the potion, I'll come to your classroom in the morning, before classes start –'

'I'll be having breakfast –'

'If you could just _listen_ to what I have to say,' she said, glowering at him. 'When you come back from breakfast, there will be time for you to check the progress of the potion and to make any suggestions before your first class of the day. There'll be no awkwardness or...re-occurrence of...'

He held his hand up to stop her.

'That seems acceptable.'

Hermione nodded. The two of them stood in silence for several minutes.

'I just hope I can get everything done in time,' she said, turning back towards the potion. 'It's hard to believe that only a few months remain until the end of sixth year...'

'I presume you will return for your seventh year?' he asked.

Her hands stopped mid-stir at his words. In truth, she had no plans for the following year. Before, she had always intended on completing her education, but the current uncertainty of her situation made her question how feasible her hopes were. Harry was growing restless with the confines of Hogwarts and Hermione did not doubt that he would not stay to complete his seventh year. He would want to help the Order and focus all his efforts on defeating Voldemort. However, given the growing powers of the dark wizard, it was impossible to predict what the situation of the wizarding world would be. Hermione had no idea of what her future held.

'That was the initial plan,' she said softly. 'I wanted to sit my exams and, then, go to a wizarding unviersity. But, now, I am not so sure. I guess it all depends on...'

Hermione shrugged and shook her head.

'I just need to wait and see. Nothing is set in stone, especially not these days.'


	24. UPDATE

**To all of the people who have read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story, I offer my sincerest apologies for my horrifically long, unexplained – and abrupt – absence. Several months ago, a rather momentous disaster took place – involving a basin of bleachy water, a clumsy sister and my unfortunate netbook – and, as a result, the remainder of this fanfiction piece, along with my notes that I had created along the way, was lost (or, more specifically, drowned). With confirmation from the PC repair man that my files were unsalvageable, I bitterly left _The Bravest Man She Ever Knew_ unfinished and abandoned. I forgot about my accounts both here and on Ashwinder and endeavoured to ignore the niggling voice at the back of my mind, which berated me for giving up on a story that I had spent the better part of a year writing. Only months later did my foolishness register and I realised how silly I had been to discard the story purely because I had lost the latter half. About a month ago, I signed onto my account and began re-writing the story from chapter 23 – the last chapter I had posted online prior to the bleachy water tsunami. Needless to say, I am completely and solely culpable for failing to back up my files on an external hard drive...Oh, how I have learned my lesson.**

**Nevertheless, one of the advantages of rewriting the lost ending to this story was that it gave me time to look over the original chapters and tweak certain aspects of this story. Hopefully, now, Hermione's character will not seem so similar to that of the weepy, gloomy, Moaning Myrtle. I offer my deepest apologies to the readers who followed this story and were left annoyed and confused at the abrupt disappearance of chapter updates. There is nothing more irritating than a story left unfinished and – while I admit my writing is of a very amateur quality compared to some of the wonderfully, enthralling pieces that appear on fanfiction archives – I am extremely grateful to those who have endured and continued to read this story. I am still making a few changes to the new chapters (as well as the old), but I wanted to let those of you, who wish to continue reading this story, know that new chapters shall be added over the course of the next week and that I shall be posting updated versions of chapters 1-23. Thank you and I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! xxx**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**As I mentioned in the 'UPDATE', all of these chapters have been tweaked and refined. However, chapters 17, 21-23 have undergone numerous changes – in case any of you are interested! I am pleased to, finally, present the long-awaited chapter. Thank you all for your kind words and encouragement. xxx**

* * *

><p>'What do you both plan on doing?'<p>

'Eh?'

'Next year, I mean. What are you both going to do?'

'Blimey, Hermione, let's get through the rest of this year first, eh?' replied Ron as he flicked through the Charms textbook. 'What on earth is a Doubling charm?'

'Well, it's pretty self-explanatory, Ronald. The spell creates an exact replica of something...But, do you think you'll stay on for seventh year?'

'Dunno,' said Ron, running his hands through his hair as he let the book slide from his lap onto the floor. 'Might just pull a Fred and George and get the heck out of here before exam-time...I know we don't have any exams until seventh year, but we still have those stupid class tests at the end of term. I'm already swamped and we're not even halfway through the course, yet. To think we still have another year of this rubbish,' he muttered, aiming a light kick at the book on the floor.

Hermione, instinctively, reached for the book and straightened its crumpled pages with an almost, motherly gentleness. She glowered at Ron as she closed the textbook and replaced it carefully on the common room table.

Harry, Hermione could not help noticing, seemed extremely quiet throughout their discussion.

'What about you, Harry?' she asked tentatively.

'I – I don't really know, to be honest,' he muttered.

Both Hermione and Ron raised their heads to look at him. He sat hunched over in his armchair as he gazed at his clasped hands.

'I understand that our N.E.W.T.s are important, but, right now, I feel so idle and..._useless_ and I hate it, especially when there are others out there doing all they can to stop Voldemort, yet, we're stuck here learning about bloody duplication spells...'

'But, you have your lessons with Dumbledore, Harry,' Hermione reminded him gently. 'You wouldn't have them if you weren't at Hogwarts...'

'I haven't had any in weeks...He told me that there's nothing more he can teach me without that memory –'

'But, even then, there's a great deal that we still have to learn...Apparition, various charms and spells, not to mention –'

'I take it you never asked Snape about Horcruxes?' he asked, cutting through her.

Hermione blushed at the mention of his name and shook her head.

'I did, but he refused to tell me. He seemed rather suspicious, in fact...They must be something extremely dark, Harry. The only way to find out what a Horcrux actually _is_, is to get that memory.'

'Well, you go and ask him, then,' he snapped, reaching for the Marauder's Map.

'I can tell you one thing for certain,' she replied haughtily as she glowered at him. 'You won't find the solution hidden inside that map.'

It was with a sleepy yawn and a reluctant groan that Hermione unpeeled herself from the comfort of her bed at six o'clock the following morning. At that moment, she regretted her suggestion of using her mornings to work on her dissertation and would have gladly exchanged the early start for an evening of awkwardness and confusion.

It did not make a great deal of sense to her, but the recent revelations with regard to his feelings for her seemed to alleviate the disappointment she felt. They had agreed that they would not repeat their encounters, but the lingering awkwardness lingered and, for some reason, this cured Hermione's dismay at the fact that he would never kiss her again.

The small, but hopeful, part of her reminded Hermione that he broken his resolve once before. But Hermione knew that she could not rely upon the slim chance that his will power might falter for a second time.

She shrugged on her shirt, shivering as she did so as the cold February breeze seeped through the crevices of the window. As she buttoned her shirt, she remembered that it was Ron's birthday. Without their visits to Hogsmeade and due to her isolated Christmas, Hermione had had no opportunity to purchase him a gift, but she hoped that the home-made scarf that she had knitted would show that she had not forgotten him. It was red, bearing a pattern of several, wonky broomsticks.

'It's not the best,' she murmured to herself as she examined her handiwork. 'But it will have to do.' She laid the scarf and his birthday card on an armchair in the common room.

The door of the portrait hole closed with a gentle click as she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and scurried towards the dungeons. Most of the students were still in bed, but Hermione spotted several ghosts, the majority of the teaching faculty and a few students sitting down to breakfast as she walked past the Great Hall.

Holding her outstretched hands above the cauldron, Hermione warmed her frozen fingers. If her dormitory was cold, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was baltic. Her teeth chattered noisily as she worked and she greatly missed the warmth of her bed.

Hermione was oblivious to the time that passed as, due to the windowless structure of the classroom, she could not see the rising sun and the growing light that streamed through the castle panes.

The advantage of the early hour was that she remained fully absorbed in the task at hand as her sleepy mind could not focus on any other thoughts or distractions.

But, when the door of his private chambers sprung open, Hermione jumped in alarm, accidentally burning herself with the hot stirrer.

'I thought you'd be having breakfast,' she said as he strode past her towards his desk. His hair was rumpled and the bags under his eyes seemed to have darkened in colour.

'Slept in,' he grunted as he began to rummage around in one of the drawers.

'You look as if you could've done with a few more hours,' she said as her eyes followed his weary, fatigue-ridden movements. 'Was it a late night?'

'Something like that,' he muttered as he withdrew a sheet of parchment from the drawer. 'My sleep was minimal, in any case.'

'When is your first class?'

'Not until this afternoon.'

'Why can't you go back to sleep –'

'I do not have the luxury of being able to spend the entire morning rolling around my bed...' Hermione blushed as his words evoked a very pleasing mental image. 'I have much to be getting on with.'

He strolled towards her desk and examined her progress over her shoulder.

'Don't stir it so much,' he remarked. 'It's a potion, not soup.'

Hermione replaced the stirrer on the bench and rolled her eyes.

He gave a sudden groan of disgust and Hermione turned to face him questioningly.

Lifting his sleeve to his nose, Severus backed away from her desk, glaring at the cauldron over the black material.

'That's the last thing I need this morning,' he muttered. 'A whiff of that blasted potion to cause further upset to my moral constitution...'

'Severus!'

Professor Slughorn's breathless voice was heard seconds before the teacher came hurtling through the door of the classroom.

'Severus – I – the bottle – the mead!'

'Horace, what are you blethering about?' Professor Snape fixed his colleague with a scornful look.

'The mead...I – I didn't know, Severus. Please, I...'

His scorn turned to suspicion.

'The mead?'

'Yes, I_ swear_ it. I didn't know...Oak-matured mead. Rosmerta's finest! How was _I_ to know?'

'What about mead? What are you talking about?'

'It was my last bottle, I – I'd already drank the rest...They were fine...There was nothing amiss –'

Professor Snape's eyes became slits.

'It seems like you have had a tipple too many, Horace. To come galloping into my classroom, spouting mindless babble, is one thing...but to teach, in such a state, is another matter entirely. This growing lack of responsibility is becoming somewhat alarming –'

'Not me, Severus! Wheatley!'

'Ron?' Hermione asked curiously, earning a narrowed glare from Professor Snape.

'Are you trying to tell me – somewhat, incoherently – that Mr Weasley has been drinking, Horace?'

'I – It was me, who gave him it...It was my – my fault.'

Professor Snape snorted loudly.

'I don't believe this,' he muttered. 'First, you leave a bunch of dunderheads to brew a batch of Garrotting potion and then you come upon the wondrous idea of plying students with alcohol. Have you completely lost your mind, Horace?'

'It was poisoned, Severus...The mead...Wheatley! I hardly know _how_ it happened.'

'Poisoned?' cried Hermione in alarm. 'Where is he, now?'

'With Poppy...in the hospital wing...'

'Come on,' muttered Professor Snape, jerking his head towards the door. 'Horace, you stay here. I'll be back shortly to bring you something for the...shock.'

Hermione was already halfway along the corridor before Severus caught up with her.

'Do you think he'll be alright?'

'I have yet to see the damage that he has sustained,' he retorted icily. 'Presumably, Mr Weasley –'

'Slughorn, I mean...He seemed completely stupefied.'

'Perhaps, retirement has addled his brains – along with fear.'

Hermione nodded as they ascended the staircase.

'That makes sense...Harry told me that he was living in hiding – is that why Dumbledore wanted him back at Hogwarts? To protect him?'

'As far as I know, yes.'

Hermione suddenly remembered Slughorn's memory and realised that the protection of an ex-colleague was not Dumbledore's sole motivation for offering Slughorn his old job back. However, she had an inkling that Professor Snape was not aware of the Headmaster's ulterior motive and she was not about to divulge the information.

'Well, at least, it worked out in your favour...You got the Defence Against the Dark Arts post...'

'True, let's hope I am exempt from this supposed curse that lies upon the position...'

Hermione opened her mouth to reprimand him for even giving it a thought, but, before she could, she spotted Ron's still body resting on the bed nearest the doors of the hospital wing.

'Ron,' she breathed, hurrying towards his bed, oblivious to the indignation emanating from Lavender, who sat on his other side.

Lavender's gaze was not the only one to follow her movements towards Ron: Professor Snape shot her a dark glower as she linked her hand through his limp, cold fingers and frantically checked his pulse.

Severus turned away from the spectacle to address Madam Pomfrey.

'Poppy, do you have a supply of bezoars?'

His fingers unclasped his outer cloak before laying it on the seat of a vacant chair.

'No need, Severus,' replied the voice of the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore took a step towards Severus as the younger man continued to roll up his sleeves. 'Young Harry here has already seen to that...'

Right on cue, Harry appeared from behind the Headmaster and gazed up at Professor Snape.

'What?' Severus spat. 'How would_ he_ know to use a bezoar?'

Hermione turned her head and watched Harry's lips curve into a smug smile. Her dark expression mirrored that of Severus.

'Mr Weasley is out of harm's reach,' confirmed Madam Pomfrey. 'Thanks to Potter's quick thinking.'

But the look of suspicion lingered upon the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's face.

'Yes...how fortunate it was that Mr Potter was around to..._save_ the day,' he remarked with a sneer. 'Horace said something about poisoned mead...'

'Apparently, he had purchased several bottles of oak-matured mead from Madam Rosmerta at the beginning of the school year,' replied the Headmaster. 'He had intended on giving the last bottle to me as a gift, but changed his mind when Mr Potter and Mr Weasley turned up at his door this morning. Mr Weasley had accidentally consumed a very powerful Love potion and Harry had sought Slughorn's help along with an antidote –'

'A _Love_ potion?' cried Lavender. 'Who gave it to him?'

Her narrowed eyes immediately turned on Hermione.

'You! I know why you're doing this..._extra Potions work_,' she said scornfully. 'I –'

'It wasn't Hermione, Lavender,' interjected Harry. 'The potion was inside a box of Cauldron Cakes that Romilda Vane gave to me...Ron didn't know they were filled with Amortentia...'

Lavender opened her mouth to retort, but chose to keep her mouth shut as she suddenly became aware of the numerous pairs of eyes that had turned to her.

'H – Her...Her...' Ron opened his mouth and mumbled incoherently. 'My...'

'Ron!' cried Lavender.

'Out of the way, Miss Brown,' commanded Madam Pomfrey. 'Mr Weasley?'

'Herm...Hermione,' he whispered. His eyes were closed and he did not yet appear to be fully conscious.

Lavender gasped tearfully.

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt as Lavender stared at her accusingly.

'You...'

'Lavender, I – he doesn't know what he's saying...' But the blonde-haired Gryffindor did not hear her as she bolted out of the hospital wing.

Hermione glanced at Harry, who shrugged at her, but she did not miss the scowl visible on Severus' face as she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision.

'How is Horace?' asked the Headmaster, who struggled to conceal his amusement at the situation. 'He seemed most distressed when he went to find you, Severus.'

Hermione rose and moved towards Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. His nostrils flared at her approach as he edged, ever so slightly, away from her.

'He was in a great deal of shock, Headmaster,' replied Hermione. 'I don't think he could quite believe what had happened...'

Professor Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

'He will be wracked with guilt...Not to mention, the alarm he must feel. For someone to sneak into his quarters unnoticed and successfully tamper with his possessions...'

'Do you think whoever did it knew that the bottle was intended for yourself, Headmaster?' asked Hermione.

'I don't doubt it, Miss Granger. A feeble attempt on my life, but, nevertheless, it should not be taken lightly...'

The Headmaster and Severus exchanged glances and she could see the meaningful expressions on their faces.

'Perhaps, you could give this to Professor Slughorn, Severus?' asked Madam Pomfrey as she handed him a phial of orange liquid. 'It should calm him down...'

Professor Snape bowed his head and took the bottle from her.

'I shall see to it, right away,' he said and strode towards the doors of the hospital wing.

With a brief smile at the Headmaster, Hermione followed him.

'Wait, sir!' she called as she hurried after him. 'Do you think whoever poisoned Slughorn's bottle also gave Katie that necklace?'

'Quite possibly,' he muttered as they returned to the dungeons.

'Horace, come here,' he called as he pushed the door of his classroom.

The Potions Master was standing over the cauldron and inhaling the fumes of Amortentia.

'Ah, the smell of roses...sugary, sweet perfume...Oh, it takes me back,' he said as he grinned at them.

'Take this,' ordered Professor Snape as he thrust the phial at Professor Slughorn.

Slughorn did as he was bid and eagerly drank the potion.

'Thank you, Severus...How is Wheatley?'

'Mr _Weasley_ will survive.'

'Thank heavens!' He raised his head and beamed as his eyes clapped upon Hermione. 'Miss Granger, this is a very good potion,' he said, gesturing to the cauldron of Amortentia. 'Very good, indeed. You should show it to Mr Potter and get his opinion...He might even be able to give you a few pointers! Anyway, I'd better be off! Thank you for your help, Severus.'

The door closed with a loud bang as the Potions Master pulled it behind him.

'How strange...' muttered Professor Snape as he gazed at the closed door, tracing his lip with his finger. 'Tell me, Hermione...perhaps, you can shed some light on this rather..._perplexing_ matter, how is it that Mr Potter knew to use a bezoar? And why, pray tell, does Horace seem to think that _his_ skill has surpassed your own?'

'I couldn't tell you...'

'I don't believe you.'

'Honestly, Severus, I don't know.'

'So, you have no idea as to how he acquired this new reputation as an expert in potion-making?'

'Perhaps, he read about bezoars in the textbook?'

'No, he did not,' he replied swiftly. '_Advanced Potion Making_ mentions nothing of bezoars.'

'Then, I have no clue...' she muttered, wondering if he could sense her lie. 'Wait, you told us about them in our first Potions class! Remember! In first year!'

Professor Snape stared at her dubiously.

'You said..."A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons",' she recited.

'How clever of you to remember,' he said lightly, staring at her as he spoke. 'However, I sincerely doubt that Potter's brain has the capacity to remember something I said over six years ago.'

'Well, regardless of _how_ he knew,' she said uneasily. 'It was lucky he was there...Ron might not have made it without –'

'Oh, yes..._Darling_ Weasley,' he muttered, rolling his eyes.

'On the contrary, Severus, you know I have no such feelings for him.'

'Then, why was Miss Brown so alarmed by your presence?'

'She thinks that Ron and I were...or have had a..._thing_, in the past...or...I don't rightly know. It is a foolish idea, I don't know how she got it into her head...'

'She must have had some reason to come to such a conclusion,' he retorted.

'Not necessarily...Girls tend not to think logically in matters of the heart,' she murmured wearily.

'So, her concern is completely unfounded?'

'Completely. You know where my affections lie,' she snapped. 'I will not soothe your bruised ego by repeating myself.'

He snorted loudly.

'You are much mistaken, Hermione, if you take my words as those spoken in jealousy.'

Hermione inhaled deeply and swallowed the retort that was boiling within her, but he was not finished with her.

'Quite the opposite, in fact...If you wished to go off with Weasley, that would make our situation far easier.'

Blushing furiously, Hermione opened her mouth.

'We have already agreed that we would not mention it again.'

'You were the one who accused me of jealousy,' he snapped.

'You are the one who cannot keep your snide comments to yourself!'

'How _dare_ you! Has it escaped your attention that you are addressing a professor?'

'Your status as such does not entitle you to snap at other people without rebuke.'

'I am your teacher –'

'That's a bit tenuous,_ sir_,' she hissed.

She shifted her weight to her toes and, to prove her point, she leaned forward to kiss him.

'For God's sake,' he bellowed, twisting his head out of her reach. Hermione persisted, clasping her hands behind his neck to pull him towards her.

'I am completely serious, will you stop this –'

Her lips grazed against his own, before he renewed his attempts to push her off.

'I mean it, Hermione. Get _off_.'

His hands took hold of her shoulders and violently pushed her. The force with which he shoved her caused her to stagger backwards and she collided with a desk.

Hermione yelped in pain as her hipbone banged against the sharp, wooden corner of the table.

Severus blanched as she clutched her hip and took a cautious step towards her.

'I – I didn't – I didn't mean to push you so hard.'

She drew the waistband of her skirt to the side and examined the huge bruise blooming on her skin. Hermione felt him standing right in front of her and the weight of his gaze as he peered at the purple blotch that stained her hip.

Tentatively, he brought his fingers to her skin and gently brushed the tender bruise with his fingers.

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat at his touch. His caress was cold and the lightness of his touch almost made her giggle at the tickling sensation. But the burning look on his face sobered her instantly.

'Sorry,' he murmured into the top of her head. His breath felt warm against her forehead. 'I lost my temper.'

'You don't need to apologise...I antagonised you,' she muttered, letting her waistband fall back into place. He hastily withdrew his fingers.

'I don't know what is happening,' he whispered. 'You're my student. I've known you since you were twelve. This...this is _sick_.'

'Shh,' she hushed. 'Don't say that. It...it _is_ unorthodox,' she conceded. 'But, not sick. This,' she said, pressing her cheek to his chest, '...doesn't feel sick.'

'I doubt that others would see it that way...You are a young girl –'

'Why does that render me incapable of caring for you?'

'The problem lies in the fact that the feeling is..._mutual_.'

The bell rang loudly and Severus backed away from her.

'You must return to class,' he said stiffly. His gaze was pointed at the ground.

* * *

><p>'Order meeting tonight,' Harry whispered to her as she sat next to him in Transfiguration. 'Dumbledore told me in the hospital wing.'<p>

Hermione nodded as she pulled several books from her bag.

'Good morning, students,' announced Professor McGonagall. 'If you could turn to the fifth chapter, we will be revising the spells that we learned last term –'

'Hardly surprising though, eh? After what happened to Ron,' muttered Harry. 'I mean, it's obviously someone inside the castle...How else could they get to Slughorn's quarters?'

'Human transfiguration! Mr Potter, you seem particularly eager to discuss the subject...Perhaps you could give us a demonstration?'

Professor McGonagall's expression was stern, but her eyes glittered in bemusement.

'I – er...Yes, Professor.'

Harry's spell was met with peels of laughter from the students and a reluctant smile from Professor McGonagall as he managed to transform his head into that of a shark. It reminded Hermione of Viktor's incomplete transfiguration spell during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

'A good..._attempt_, Mr Potter,' said McGonagall, smothering her smirk she reversed the spell. 'When transfiguring yourself into another creature, it is important to assess your surroundings. If you wish to transform yourself into a sea creature, as Mr Potter kindly demonstrated to us, you need to ensure that you are near open water. Otherwise, the result could be disastrous...Now, I would like you to read the beginning of chapter five, page ninety, and we will do a short test before the end of the class.'

An excited muttering spread among the students as they attempted the spell. Lavender, Hermione realised, was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p>'I still don't believe that Malfoy isn't, somehow, wrapped up in all of this,' muttered Harry as they entered McGonagall's office that evening to use the Floo Network. Ron would not be accompanying them as he remained comatose in the hospital wing.<p>

'Oh, Harry, that's enough,' she replied as they approached the fireplace.

'But, think about it, Hermione! He is_ inside_ the castle, his father's a Death Eater...it all fits!'

'Keep your voice down,' she hissed at him. 'And for goodness' sake, do _not_ mention your suspicions at the meeting tonight.'

'But, Hermione –'

'I know that he's not a moron, but do you _honestly_ believe that Malfoy could sneak into Slughorn's rooms and poison the mead without being detected?'

'Maybe, he got someone else to put the poison in? The Imperius curse...Or, perhaps, in the Leaky Cauldron, where he bought them from!'

Hermione groaned as she stepped into the fire and dropped a handful of powder into the flames. In truth, she doubted if the events that had taken place inside Slughorn's chambers would even be mentioned at the meeting that night. She had an inkling that Professor Snape and the Headmaster already had their suspicions. If that was the case, it was unlikely that they would divulge their surmises to the rest of the Order.

When they entered the kitchen, Mrs Weasley was regaling the group of witches and wizards with the story of her son's poisoning.

'Harry!' she cried as she clapped eyes on him. 'Albus told us everything...You were in class before we could see you and thank you!'

She pulled him into a fierce hug.

'It was a lucky day for the Weasleys when you stepped into Ron's carriage on the Hogwarts Express,' she mumbled tearfully. 'Arthur's still at work, but he told me to thank you...for everything.'

'Er – it was nothing, Mrs Weasley,' he replied as he awkwardly patted her back.

'Nonsense,' she replied. 'You were so clever to think of a bezoar –'

'Ingenius,' muttered Severus from the far corner of the kitchen. A red blush filled Hermione's face as she glanced in his direction.

Hermione smiled as she lowered herself into a chair, allowing her mind to process his parting words to her that morning:_ The feeling is...mutual._

'– and on his _birthday_, as well! Oh, my poor Ronnie. I'm just so grateful to you, Harry, dear. You've saved our family so many times. Arthur...Ginny...and, now, Ron.'

The room fell into an awkward silence as Molly Weasley continued to squeeze Harry's waist. It was only when the Headmaster appeared that she finally put him down and took her seat.

'Good evening,' he said, addressing the crowd around him. In his good hand, he held, what appeared to be, a Muggle newspaper. 'I hope I find you all in good health and spirits.' He unfurled the newspaper and spread its pages on the table surface. 'We need to turn our attention, now, to the damage inflicted upon...'

'Before we get into that, Albus, I think it's important to consider exactly _how _that bottle of mead was poisoned,' said Remus, who had been listening intently to Molly's story. 'The protection of Hogwarts is of paramount importance...If someone has succeeded in infiltrating the castle, the Order must turn their attention to its security...'

'I can assure you, Remus, that, for the time being, Hogwarts is completely safe.'

'A student was _poisoned_, Albus,' Remus insisted. 'And could have died, had it not been for Harry...You can hardly call that_ safe_.'

'You are quite right, Remus. But, seeing as it is my school, it is _my_ responsibility to investigate the matter and I can assure you that all is in hand. The school is, at the moment, inaccessible to unwanted parties...'

'Then, you know the intruder?'

'The Headmaster has made himself quite plain, Lupin,' snapped Professor Snape.

'I wasn't asking you, Severus,' replied Remus calmly, turning to the Headmaster. 'They were my students for a year and, I, as do we all, have the students' best interests at heart.'

'Do you doubt me, Remus?' asked the Headmaster, looking into the werewolf's weary face.

'I – of course not, Albus.'

'Doesn't sound like it.'

'Quiet, Severus,' warned Professor Dumbledore.

'Albus, I only meant that this matter should not be taken lightly, I did not mean to sound so dubious of your actions in protecting the school,' he said, wiping his forehead with his hand. 'It would be a bad day for us if the Ministry were to fall, but, it would be an even worse day if the school were to fall. The Ministry is swarming with accomplished witches and wizards, but Hogwarts is full of teenagers. They may be capable and aspiring young witches and wizards, but they would not be prepared for such an attack.'

The Headmaster nodded.

'I understand your concern, Remus. But I can assure you that this attempt on my life, if, indeed, that is what it was, is under control. It is a _school_ matter and shall be treated as such. Tom has not yet set his sights on Hogwarts. Now, back to this...'

'Do you think he knows more about it than he's letting on?' Harry muttered in her ear.

Hermione nodded briefly in response as she recalled the meaningful exchange between Severus and Professor Dumbledore earlier that day in the hospital wing.

'Looks like it,' she whispered.

'I bet it's Malfoy...'

For the first time, Hermione did not have the energy to dispute his point.

'I think we shall finish up here for tonight,' announced Professor Dumbledore after an hour. 'Time is making fools of us, once more...I wish you all a safe journey home. Stay safe and be on your guard.'

He was the first to leave the kitchen and, slowly, the crowd of witches and wizards followed him out of the door.

Hermione and Harry sat and waited for the majority of the group to leave, before they finally rose from their seats.

'I wonder if Ron's awake, yet,' said Hermione as Harry held the door open for her.

'I hope so,' he replied. 'Although I don't think _he_ will be when Lavender gets a hold of him...'

'Oh, don't say that, Harry,' said Hermione. 'I feel so guilty.'

'Well, you shouldn't. You didn't _do_ anything wrong.'

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were waiting for them by the fireplace.

'Come along, come along, don't dawdle,' called Professor Snape. He stepped into the fireplace, ducking his head as he moved, and grasped a handful of Floo powder.

'Hogwarts,' he shouted. The green flames flared.

But he did not move.

'What the –' he murmured under his breath, looking at his feet. He stepped forward and grabbed another handful of Floo powder from the pot that Professor McGonagall held out to him. 'Hogwarts,' he repeated, throwing another fistful of powder into the fireplace.

'Is it not working, Severus?' asked Professor McGonagall.

'Clearly,' he muttered with a frown.

'Try again,' she urged him.

He repeated the action, shouting even louder.

'The_ blasted_ fire has gone out,' he barked, stepping out of the fireplace.

'You're joking,' groaned Harry.

Severus glowered at him.

'That's strange,' murmured Hermione. 'It was working moments ago!'

'What will we do, Severus?' asked the Transfiguration teacher. 'We could Apparate...'

'Check outside first,' he ordered as he glanced around the room.

Professor McGonagall lifted the blinds of the window and peered out into the street.

'There's no one there,' she replied. 'I'm sure it will be quite safe.'

He strode towards the window by her side.

'Look again, Minerva.'

'What do you mean? Those two men over there? Why, Severus! They're just Muggles...How would the Death Eaters know to find us here?'

'Can you be so sure? The Dark Lord sends out Death Eaters _nightly_ to try and locate the Order's headquarters.'

At that moment, a burst of light appeared in the middle of the room, making them jump, and took the form of an enormous, silver phoenix.

'Arthur Weasley has just sent word from the Ministry. The Floo Network is down...There has been no report of suspicious activity and the Ministry workers are doing all they can to resolve the matter. If you think it safe, bring Mr Potter and Miss Granger back by Side-Along Apparition, if not, you must spent the night and travel in the morning.'

The phoenix vanished into thin air and the four of them looked at each other.

'Excellent,' muttered Professor Snape sarcastically.

'Is it not safe to travel, Se – sir?' asked Hermione. Everyone turned to face him as he cast another look out of the window.

'I would not risk it,' he said as he frowned in suspicion. 'It might be nothing, but we cannot be completely sure...'

'Right,' said Professor McGonagall, straightening her hat. 'I suggest you both get some sleep and I would return to the rooms you slept in over the summer holidays, if I were you. I question how..._habitable_ the other bedrooms are in this house,' she said, casting a doubtful glance at the dusty, spider-encrusted corners of the walls.

They made their way to the second floor and examined the various bedrooms: Hermione and Ginny's bedroom as well as that of Harry and Ron seemed perfectly fine (minus the layer of dust, which McGonagall removed with her wand). But the other bedrooms were so thick with dust and filth that they were best to be avoided.

Sirius' old bedroom was the only other bedroom that seemed remotely clean.

'You take Black's room, Minerva,' said Professor Snape quickly. 'I'll sleep on the settee...'

'Are you sure, Professor?' asked Hermione.

'Yes,' he replied shortly. 'Go to your room, Miss Granger.'

She lingered on the other side of her door as Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall spoke in low voices on the landing outside, arranging the plans for the morning.

'With any luck, the Floo Network will be up and running by dawn,' said Professor Snape. 'If not, we'll return to the castle by Side-Along Apparition.'

'Under the Disillusionment charm, of course,' added Professor McGonagall.

'Yes,' he agreed.

'Good. Well, I'll see you in the morning, Severus,' said the Transfiguration teacher and padded along the hallway to Sirius' room. Harry had gone to his bedroom and had fallen fast asleep, if the sound of raucous snoring was anything to go by.

'Sir?' whispered Hermione tentatively as she stepped outside of her room. He was on the point of descending the stairs, leading to the living room, but stopped as she approached him.

He cast a wary eye towards the door of Sirius' bedroom.

'Hermione,' he murmured.

'What was going on outside?'

'Nothing out of the ordinary. But it was impossible to be sure,' he replied. 'I did not want to risk it.'

Hermione nodded and placed her hand on the bannister.

Severus eyed her movements and, slowly, inched his own fingers along the polished wood until his hand rested atop her own.

'Goodnight, Severus,' she murmured, looking into his face.

He removed his hand, but as she lifted her own, he took hold of it again and brought it to his mouth. He pressed her knuckles against his lips, before letting her hand fall to her side.

'Goodnight, Hermione.'


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

Dust floated thick in the air and, at four o'clock in the morning, Hermione awoke to the sound of her own loud, dry coughs. With the flat of her hand, she batted her chest, trying to remove the dust particles that irritated her throat. But her coughing fit did not cease.

She stumbled out of the bedroom and made her way downstairs towards the kitchen. Every footstep on the old carpet released a puff of dust and her spine curved forward as the coughs were dragged from her throat.

Hastily, Hermione pushed open the kitchen door and staggered towards the sink. Filling an empty glass with water from the tap, she brought the tumbler to her lips and eagerly swallowed, suppressing the coughs that rose in her throat.

'Bad dream?'

Hermione choked in alarm, spraying the floor with water as she turned her head to the source of the voice. Professor Snape was sitting upright at the kitchen table in his usual spot. Moonlight filtered through the kitchen window, shedding light onto his still frame. She swallowed heavily as she shook her head.

'Dust,' she replied shortly, taking another sip of water. 'I've been up all night coughing.'

As if on cue, another loud coughing fit began and Hermione clutched at her neck.

'Anapneo,' he murmured in response, pointing his wand at her. Hermione felt a curious sensation travel along her throat as it rinsed the specks of dust from her throat and chest.

She nodded in gratitude and took another swig of water, clearing the tingling remnants of magic from her throat.

'I don't know how this house gets so filthy...Goodness knows how many times we've cleaned it,' she muttered as she pulled the chair next to him out from under the table and lowered herself into it. 'Did you get any sleep at all, Severus?'

He shook his head as he gazed out of the window.

'Aren't you tired?' she asked.

'A little,' he shrugged slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on the window pane.

'Why don't you sleep upstairs? In my bedroom.'

Severus snorted loudly in response and shot her a brief look that was not entirely void of scorn.

'What? With you? That'd be a pleasant surprise for Minerva when she wakes up...' he muttered sarcastically.

'_Alone_, I meant,' she replied quickly. 'I don't think I'll get back to sleep anyway, you go to my bedroom and get a few more hours...'

'There's no point,' he said gently, shaking his head. 'It won't be long until we need to leave.'

Their knees were touching as they sat and, tentatively, Hermione placed her hand on his knee. His eyes instantly dropped to his lap and she knew that he would pull away from her.

She was not expecting his reaction at all.

His hands suddenly took hold of either side of her face and pulled her lips towards his own. She shifted towards the edge of her seat, allowing him to draw her closer. Her lips were chapped and cracked from the dryness of her mouth, but the wet warmth of his tongue soon soothed her parched lips. Placing her other hand on his knee, she angled her body towards him as he stroked her face with his hands. His fingers raked through her hair, pushing it away from her face behind her ears, and tangled themselves in the mass of curls.

Leaning forward, she pushed her mouth fiercely against his own to deepen their kiss. The muscles in her back strained as she moved her lips against his and let her hands glide further along his thighs. Her back twinged at the awkward positioning of her body, but Hermione found it difficult to care as he gently nipped her bottom lip with his lips.

As if in answer to her discomfort, he removed his hands from her hair and grabbed her body, pulling her onto his lap. His hand wound around her back while his other rested on her thigh. Hermione's fingers slithered under his chin towards the back of his head and buried themselves in the roots of his long, black hair. As the kiss became more passionate and wet, the fingers laced through his hair turned to fists and she pulled him closer towards her.

His hand swept further along her thigh and Hermione pressed further against him, encouraging him to continue. His thumb gently began to trace the crease between her leg and her pelvis as his fingers curled around her hipbone, but he did not let his fingers slip any further. Even through the thick denim of her jeans, Hermione could feel the warmth of his touch.

'Go on,' she murmured against his lips.

'Hermione, I –'

She covered her hand with his own and moved his fingers down, slowly, towards the apex of her thighs.

As her eyes flickered upwards towards his face, she saw that his eyebrows were furrowed together and his forehead was creased with lines of anxiety.

It was not the look of lust that Hermione had hoped for and, with a gentle sigh, she removed her hand from his own and let it fall limply by her side. He quickly moved his hand and it resumed its original position on her knee.

'Too much, too soon?' she asked quietly.

He swallowed and nodded.

'My mind is screaming at me to stop,' he said in a hoarse voice that was unrecognisable to her. 'This is just...It can't go on...' His eyes glittered in the light of the moon and Hermione sensed the apology behind his stare.

They both jumped as a light suddenly materialised in the middle of the kitchen and the shimmering phoenix reappeared, spreading its huge silver wings. Severus' eyes widened in alarm and he nudged Hermione from his lap onto her own chair as if the Headmaster could somehow see their encounter through his Patronus. Hermione settled into her chair as she listened to the Headmaster's voice emitting from the mouth of the phoenix.

'Severus, I have been informed by Arthur Weasley that the Floo Network is still inaccessible...You'll need to Apparate. Be _sure _that the coast is clear and travel under the Disillusionment charm. Wake Mr Potter and Miss Granger and leave within the hour.'

Dumbledore's voice along with his phoenix vanished and Hermione flushed scarlet as she looked at the ground. To hear the Headmaster's voice while sitting in Severus' lap felt as if he had caught them in person. She shook her head and glanced hesitantly at the man beside her.

Both hands were clenched into fists and his eyes were focused upon the spot where the phoenix had been. Hermione knew, purely by looking at him, that he was following her train of thought.

'Go and wake Potter,' he ordered her quietly without looking at her.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to talk about what had happened before the arrival of the Patronus, but she could see by reading his facial expression that he was not in a mood to discuss the bewildering, and ever-changing, nature of their relationship. She nodded and rose to her feet. But, before she left the room, he spoke.

'I meant to ask you...' He sounded thoughtful as he spoke.

She turned away from the door to look at him.

'Yes?'

'What form did your Patronus take? That day in class.'

Hermione's gaze drifted to the spot where Dumbledore's phoenix had vanished and she blushed furiously at the memory of that particular lesson.

The class on Patronuses had taken place during the fortnight that they had had very little contact, subsequent to their second kiss. Some of the students had succeeded in producing thin wisps of silver vapour. Harry's silver stag had galloped proudly around the room. She could recall the look on Professor Snape's face. His expression had been a curious combination of anger and something akin to sadness, which she attributed to the fact that _Harry_was the only student to succeed. Naturally, he received no praise for his feat.

The atmosphere of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been far different to the cheery and exciting atmosphere that had lingered in the Room of Requirement during the Dumbledore's Army meetings and, as a result, the DA members failed to produce the same results as they had done under Harry's tutelage.

She had felt disheartened by Severus' refusal to acknowledge her, but that had not stopped her from putting in the same effort as she had done during their DA meetings. Hermione had wracked her brains for her happiest memory and the recollection that her mind had stumbled across was one of the brief fleeting hug he had given her in the clearing of the forest when he had came to collect her after the Christmas holidays and the warmth of happiness that had spread through her.

However, the silvery creature that had burst from her wand looked nothing like the furry body of the otter she had produced during her fifth year.

Its four, thin, knobbly legs had been the first to appear. They had looked short and misshapen as if they had yet to grow. It had a short, tufty tail and wide eyes that looked enormous set in its little face. Those were the only details that Hermione could remember of the Patronus; she had been so startled that she quickly lost all concentration and the creature had vanished as soon as it had appeared. Nobody had seen the curious animal that she had released from her wand, or so she had thought, until she caught the curious expression on Professor Snape's face.

'A fawn,' she muttered. 'It was a fawn.'

His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply and raised his head towards the ceiling.

'It was an otter before,' he stated bluntly without looking at her. It was difficult to detect his feelings from his tone. He sounded strangely blank and Hermione could not tell how the news had affected him.

Hermione lowered her eyes to the tiled floor before hurrying out of the kitchen.

She did not understand why she felt so embarrassed or if her feelings were those caused by embarrassment. All she knew was that she felt strange and uneasy at the revelation, which, in turn, made no sense to her. He could be in no doubt of her feelings for him; she had openly revealed them to him herself. But the Patronus, and the fact that it had changed, made everything seem a bit more real to her.

'Get up, Harry,' she called, rapping the wooden panels of the door with her knuckles.

'Mrmph,' he responded from the other side of the door.

* * *

><p>'Hey, guys,' mumbled Ron as they strode into the hospital wing after having arrived back at the school. 'Gosh, you're early birds today, aren't you?' He squinted at his watch as he rubbed the rheum from his eyes.<p>

Harry filled him in on the discussions during the Order meeting and the faulty Floo Network, while Hermione recalled the awkward events of that morning. Professor Snape had grabbed Harry roughly by the scruff of his jumper, cast a Disillusionment charm upon him, and Apparated as Minerva was fastening her travelling cloak around her neck. It was clear, to Hermione, that he did not want to be near her at all as he would rather be with his least favourite student than Apparate with her.

A small part of Hermione felt relieved as the thought of her Head of House watching her hold on to Severus made her flush red with embarrassment. She wondered if the perceptive teacher would have been able to sense the tension between herself and the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'The Floo's down?' repeated Ron incredulously, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. 'Merlin, that doesn't bode well...What happened?'

'It's nothing to do with the Death Eaters,' interjected Hermione as she lowered herself onto the end of Ron's bed. 'According to your dad...They've got people working on it.'

Her words did not remove the anxious expression on Ron's face.

'Even still, Hermione,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Someone must have tampered with the system.'

'Surely not! There are Ministry workers using it day in and day out, the system is bound to break down at _some _point as it's being used so frequently.'

Ron shook his head.

'This isn't the Muggle world, Hermione. I'm not saying that magic is faultless...Poor enchantments won't last, but this is the _Ministry_...I can't believe that it would just stop working. I think something or someone has been messing around with it, to stop witches and wizards from getting to their work or to create a diversion.'

He gazed thoughtfully at his duvet as he rubbed the back of his neck.

'Professor Dumbledore said that there was nothing to worry about,' said Harry.

Hermione shrugged.

'I doubt he'd mention it if there _was _something to worry about...The minute that people start to panic is when everything goes to pot.' said Hermione.

'Even so, I'll ask him about it tonight. I _know_ I haven't got that memory yet,' he added hastily in response to their curious glances. 'But, surely, he'll understand what with you getting poisoned and all.'

Ron grinned.

'My hero,' he said in a falsetto voice and swooning.

'I'll also need to sort the team out, seeing as you're stuck here,' said Harry, running his hands through his hair. 'The next match is in a few days.'

The corners of Ron's mouth dropped and his shoulders sagged.

'You gonna ask McLaggen?' asked Ron, picking a piece of lint from his jumper.

'I s'ppose so. He did well in the tryouts...' he conceded. 'It's just a shame that he's such a pain in the arse.'

Hermione recalled his attempts to woo her at Slughorn's Christmas party and felt herself nod in agreement.

The day passed slowly and Hermione could not stop her mind from wandering back to that morning in Grimmauld Place. Her thigh still tingled at the memory of his warm palm against her leg. But the memory was marred by the way he had thrown her from his lap and the cold, blank tone of his voice when he had asked her about her Patronus.

Her visual recollection of the tiny fawn seemed to serve as confirmation of the intensity of her feelings for him, but it also highlighted the massive age gap that lay between them. Twenty years was a long time. When she was born, he would have been signing up to Voldemort's ranks. She would have been in nappies, playing with lego and building blocks while he would have been fulfilling the cruel and horrible tasks set out by his master. The thought was an unwelcome one and Hermione shuddered as she gazed at the Transfiguration textbook in front of her.

She wanted to see him that evening, but they had agreed that she would only work on her potion in the mornings. She had no suitable reason to see him. But, if the events that had taken place in the past forty-eight hours were anything to go by, the agreement had been rendered null.

A familiar, yet unwelcome, face surfaced at dinner that night and Hermione felt thoroughly sick as she met the red-rimmed gaze of Lavender Brown.

'Oh, hi, Lavender,' said Harry awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'How are you? Have you been to see Ron?'

Lavender continued to glower at Hermione as she responded through gritted teeth.

'Yes, I went to see him during the lunch break. He was asleep.'

'Really? Must've been tired, then, he was awake when we went to see him this morning...Ouch!' Harry yelped in pain as Hermione dug her elbow into his side.

The blonde-haired Gryffindor looked to Harry in surprise before returning her stare to Hermione with fresh tears in her eyes.

'Ron and I are just friends, Lavender. What he said in the hospital wing was just –'

Hermione did not get to finish her sentence as Lavender slammed her fork onto the table with a force that made the surrounding plates rattle and fled the table.

'Well done, Harry,' Hermione muttered in response.

'I was trying to be _nice_' he said defensively, rubbing his side.

'Honestly, you men can be so bloody _dense_ at times!'

She rubbed her face with her hands and resolved to go to Professor Snape's classroom after dinner. The day could not get any worse as far as she was concerned. His sharp retorts would be a welcome relief from the other pressures she bore, but she hoped fervently that he would be in an agreeable mood.

* * *

><p>'Why are you here?' he snapped as she entered the classroom after giving a hesitant knock.<p>

'How charming,' she muttered, closing the door. 'Good evening, Severus. I came to work on my potion.'

Professor Snape turned back to the paperwork that he held in his hands.

'We agreed you would work here in the _morning._'

'I thought that, seeing as we were not here this morning, I would continue brewing my potion this evening,' she said, blushing at the memory of what she had been doing that morning.

'Must you?' She did not miss the pained tone in his voice as he spoke. It sounded almost like a pleading beg.

'I'll go if you wish,' she replied softly. 'But I think it would be..._beneficial_ if we had a chat...'

'A chat?' he repeated dubiously.

She nodded as she stepped towards his desk and stood on the other side of the wooden surface, facing him.

'Forgive me, Hermione, but I am not particularly fond of small-talk or idle chit-chat...'

'You know what I mean.'

He stopped halfway through the sentence he was writing and paused. Slowly, he replaced his quill on the desk.

'Fine. Talk.'

Folding his arms, he sat back in his chair and looked at her expectantly.

'I...I know that it was awkward this morning. When we were...when the Patronus...the Headmaster's, I mean...'

He raised his eyebrows.

'Your articulacy is astounding. Did Slughorn ask you to brew a Babbling potion today?'

'Don't be difficult, Severus,' she replied, looking at him beseechingly.

'Do not tell me what to do.'

Hermione could not help but smile at the petulant, childish tone in his voice and, even, he seemed to notice it as he hastily cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to his desk.

'There is nothing to discuss, Hermione,' he said eventually, glancing briefly up at her.

'I am incapable of letting this..._relationship_ go beyond what it currently is. Every time that we are together, I feel ashamed and disgusted and it cannot go on, like I said this morning.'

'I remember,' she said gently as she stared at his lowered head. 'That was after you pulled me onto your lap and kissed me, wasn't it?'

'_Don't_!' He cringed and brought his hands to his face, shielding the fiery red blush that filled his cheeks from her.

'How many times must we have this conversation, Severus?' she asked quietly.

'This will be the last time,' he stated firmly as his head shot up to fix her with a furious glower. 'Because _neither_ of us are going to let this foolishness continue...'

'Foolishness? You _know_ what my Patronus has become. Surely, now, you cannot dismiss my feelings for you as the foolish fancies of a young girl...'

'Your Patronus means nothing,' Severus snapped with a scornful glower. 'I fail to see the connection between your Patronus and our...the nature of our...'

'You told me that your Patronus is a doe...A doe and a fawn are –'

'THEY ARE_ NOT_ THE SAME!' he barked, slamming his palm onto the desk.

His fury frightened her and Hermione hastily backed away until she felt the edge of a desk push against her lower spine.

'They're both deer,' she replied.

'Your's is a_ fawn_,' he hissed. 'A fawn for a child!'

'I am not a child, Severus. By wizarding law, I am an adult.'

'Hardly,' he hissed contemptuously. 'You're seventeen and –'

'An adult,' she insisted. 'And one that shows far more maturity than you...'

'Really?' he asked dubiously. 'I fail to see this superior maturity than you, apparently, display,' he sneered.

'At least,_ I_ address the problems at hand, as opposed to your method of dealing with things, which is to bury your head in the sand!' she shouted angrily.

'You are acting like a selfish, impudent child because you cannot have what you want –'

'_I_ am the one being selfish?' she repeated incredulously with widened eyes. 'Do you have no recollection of your behaviour over the past month?'

He glared at her, but made no response.

'We agreed to_ leave_ it,' she hissed. 'We agreed that it would all stop. It was_ you_ who did not want this to end. You were the one to kiss me in spite of our agreement –'

His anger shifted to a pained expression as he opened his mouth to argue.

'The last thing I wanted to do was make this difficult for you, Severus. You were right all along, this_ is_ dangerous,' she said softly, nodding her head. Her voice sounded distant yet calm despite the fury boiling within her. 'For both of us. You could lose your job and your life. Your reputation would be tarnished and who knows what _he_ would do to do you.'

He continued to gaze at her as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

She tilted her head upwards to face him, defiance etched onto her face.

'I should not have –'

'You're right,' she replied sharply. 'You should not have kissed me...Not the first time, not the second time, not the third time nor all the times after that. But you did. You kissed me. Because, despite how much you wish to deny it, you care –'

'Stop it!' he snarled, stepping towards her. 'It was a mistake. Everything I did and everything I said –'

'There were a lot of mistakes, Severus.'

'I –'

'But it was not your biggest mistake.'

Severus' expression narrowed as he waited for her to continue.

'The biggest mistake that you made was not that you kissed me. It was that you pushed me away and then pulled me towards you. It was that you continued to draw me back into your arms only to shove me away again.'

'Do not act as if I am solely to blame –'

'On the contrary,' she replied with a gentle laugh as she fixed him with a steely, hardened glare. 'You are. You play with my head as if...as if I am disposable, as if I'm not capable of feeling or thinking or getting hurt. Do you realise how painful it is to be subject to the whims of another human being?'

He snorted.

'You are ignorant in these matters, Hermione.'

'Oh,' she said sarcastically. 'Is there a lesson that I have yet to learn about the rules of courtship? I cannot imagine many women would stand for this push me, pull me routine...I can assure you that it is quite tedious.'

'I have had quite enough of this back-chat,' he muttered.

'And I have had quite enough of your cowardice,' she retorted. The lump at the back of her throat told her that she was on the verge of tears, but her eyes felt dry as she looked at him. Inside her, fury writhed inside her like a flaming serpent, snaking its way up her throat into her mouth and her voice.

'What?'

The look on his face was almost murderous as his head snapped around to look at her.

'I beg your pardon?' he asked softly.

'You're a coward,' she said plainly.

His face blanched and he rose from his chair. Hermione gulped and he straightened his robes and swept towards her until his face was inches from her own.

'Do not – _ever_ – call me a coward,' he hissed through gritted teeth. A mad glint glistened in his eyes as he stared at her.

'You know what you want, but you do not want to claim it for fear of discovery...I can understand that. But, instead of leaving it be and forgetting about it, you have to snatch it, hold it for several moments, and drop it before anyone sees you –'

'That is not the case – You are not just some..._object _–'

Hermione gave a humourless laugh.

'How observant, Severus,' she said dryly. 'Unfortunately, you would not think so, given the way that you treat me.'

'I have done _everything_ for you,' he barked. 'I saved your parents, I arranged for you to see them over Christmas, I have helped you and the dunderheads that you call friends on several different occasions yet you stand here and call me 'coward'. You are a selfish and ungrateful little girl.'

She looked at him through narrowed eyes.

'You are in no doubt of my gratitude to you for the things you have done. But how can I be grateful when you toy with my mind and you kiss me and embrace me and then push me away several hours later? It's exhausting, Severus.'

'Can't you understand how _wrong_ this is?' he shouted. 'You are a child. Even your magic acknowledges it...A _fawn_, for Christ's sake!'

He stepped away from her and rubbed his face with his hands.

'I cannot handle these constant, sudden changes of mind that you seem to have,' she whispered bitterly.

'Well, you shan't have to bear them any longer,' he replied acerbically. 'I have made my mind up. We shall stick to our agreement –'

'_We_! It was your fault that our agreement did not work in the first place,' she hissed.

He scowled at her.

'You will work on your potion in the morning and you can write your dissertation in the library...' He began to pace agitatedly in front of her, folding his arms in his robes.

'You're a bloody coward,' she whispered.

Severus stopped in his tracks.

'How dare you –' he began softly as he turned to look at her.

Hermione stared at him defiantly.

'I _told_ you not to call me –'

'A coward.' The two syllables soared from her mouth like spears and Hermione could see the fury that the word had evoked from him. 'Why not, Severus? It's what you are.'

For a moment, he looked as if he might strike her and, for the first time in all the years that she had known him, he was speechless.

'You cannot even acknowledge that you have done wrong...How long will it last, Severus? This _new_ agreement?'

'I have no intention of going back on my word,' he retorted coldly.

'I can honestly say that I hope so,' she said. Her voice sounded far-off, even to her own ears. 'I don't know how likely it is that I shall meet someone I care about as much as I care about you...But I'd rather live on my own for the rest of my life, however short that may be, than be with a coward like you.'

Her voice sounded cold and stony and Hermione was surprised by how callous she could sound. But, at that moment, it was worth it to see his expression of anger shift to utter shock.

The door slammed loudly behind her as she exited the classroom and left him standing by the desk.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

'Did you go to see Dumbledore?' asked Ron. Hermione rose her head from her thoughts to see Harry shake his head in dejection.

'He wasn't there when I knocked on his door,' he said as he crossed his arms.

'He has been going away a hell of a lot these days,' murmured Ron as he plumped up his pillow.

The sound of heels clacking against the hard floor made the trio turn around and they watched Madam Pomfrey scurry hastily past Ron's bed.

'Also,' said Harry, straightening his back suddenly and slapping Ron's arm. 'Stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes round to see you. She keeps nipping my ear about the fact that you're always asleep when she visits you...'

Ron cast a sheepish glance towards the floor and cupped the back of his neck with his hand.

'I know...Sorry, mate.'

'Between her and McLaggen nipping my ear, I'm surprised it hasn't fallen off yet...' he muttered darkly.

'Oh,' said Ron in a feigned casual tone. 'So, you've spoken to him then?'

'He's been harping on at me for the past two days! I suppose I'll have to invite him to practice tonight.'

Ron nodded, but Harry did not fail to notice the paleness of his face.

'Don't worry,' he muttered hastily. 'He won't be making a permanent addition to the team...'

'That's good,' murmured Ron. He turned towards Hermione. 'You're awfully quiet this afternoon, Hermione.'

Hermione gave him a small smile and shrugged.

'Just thinking, I guess,' she said. In truth, her mind was not possessed by the concerns that her friends shared. In her mind's eye, she repeatedly replayed the argument that had erupted between herself and Severus. The pride that she had initially felt at her boldness and her bravery in standing up to him had dissipated and she was beginning to feel an acute sense of guilt. She had learned how to push his buttons and the result was one, very furious man. Hermione could not forget the snarling tone of his voice and the burning warmth of his breathe when he had stepped towards her, almost in mockery of their previous embraces, as he verbally hauled her over the coals.

'Anyway, we'd better get back,' said Harry wearily. 'We've got free periods the rest of the day and I need to finish Slughorn's essay...'

'Very well, Prince of Potions,' said Ron with a grin. The term roused Hermione from her reverie and she shot them both a dark glower. 'I'll see you both, tomorrow yeah?'

They nodded their consent.

'Make sure you're awake when Lavender comes to see you tonight!' said Harry, shaking a reproving finger at Ron as he rose from his chair. 'I don't want to have to listen to her grill me again about how you feel about her...'

'Yeah, yeah...Good luck with Quidditch practice tomorrow, if I don't see you before then.'

Harry grimaced and strode out of the hospital wing and Hermione hurried along after him, completely absorbed in her thoughts and the emotional mix of pride and guilt that she felt.

Her entire body felt numb as she traipsed back to Gryffindor tower alongside Harry.

She knew that she ought to feel strong and brave. She had told him plainly that she would not let him toy with her feelings anymore. She had not allowed him to walk all over her. But, for some reason, she did not feel as if she had stuck up for herself. The guilt was winning her over as the sense of pride she had initially felt vanished.

As she entered through the portrait hole, she mentally shook herself. She had no reason to feel guilty. The whole situation was wrong. His hot and cold attitude was childish and wrong, not to mention the mind games that his ever-changing perspective on their relationship inflicted upon her. He had shown no consideration for her feelings as he chewed her up and spat her back out again. Hermione ran her hands through her hair as she made her way towards an armchair beside Harry.

'I thought you were going to work on Slughorn's essay?' asked Hermione querulously when Harry pulled the familiar sheet of parchment from his school robes.

'Yeah, in a minute...' he mumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for her school bag, withdrawing several large tomes. Opening her Transfiguration textbook, she began to read. In truth, she had read the textbook twice before, but Hermione found that it was necessary to read a book at least three or four times before the information took root in her memory.

She was halfway through the textbook when Parvati appeared with Lavender closely behind. Hermione grunted a vague greeting as she continued to read. Lavender ignored her and marched towards Harry's armchair.

'Harry, I want to talk to you,' she demanded as her lip quivered. 'In private.'

She shot Hermione a vicious look from under her eyelashes and Harry did not fail to conceal the look of despair on his face as he glanced at Lavender.

'I – er – yeah, well, the thing is, I've still got Slughorn's essay to do,' he mumbled, gesturing vaguely to his school bag.

'It won't take long,' she huffed impatiently.

'Fine,' he breathed and rose from his chair. Together, they exited the portrait hole and Hermione and Parvati shared a look of incredulity.

To her surprise, Parvati did not move as Hermione lowered her head and continued to read the Transfiguration textbook.

'Er – Hermione?'

Parvati looked slightly anxious as she played with the tufty end of her plait.

'I bumped into Professor Snape on my way back to the common room. He – he wants to see you…_now_. He seemed really angry. He started shouting at me, but I didn't understand most of what he was going on about…But you'd better go and see him. He looks furious!'

Hermione raised her index finger to her mouth and began to trace her lower lip with it. Part of her wanted to run to him and apologise profusely for the things she had said. But another part wanted to make him stew. He had played plenty of mind-games with her. It was his turn to wait. She wanted him to stew in his boiling anger, incapable of reprimanding her.

'OK,' she replied carefully. 'Thank you for letting me know.'

Parvati remained rooted to the spot and watched Hermione lazily turn another page of the textbook.

'Are you not going to go? He said you have to come immediately.'

'I'll go in a minute,' she replied, turning another page.

Parvati's eyes narrowed as she looked at Hermione suspiciously. But, after several seconds, she walked towards the other side of the common room to engage in conversation with a group of seventh year girls.

No matter how hard she stared at the page, Hermione could not take in any of the information. Her mind was full of various scenarios, rotating in her mind's eye. She imagined what would happen if she did go and see him. Would he give her a detention for the way he spoke to her? Or something worse? Or would he apologise for the way he had behaved?

Hermione snorted inwardly at the thought of the latter. He was far too stubborn to admit he was wrong, much less apologise. Part of her wanted to see him out of curiosity. The other half was determined to remain steadfast in her resolve not to go to him. Everything that she had needed to say, she had already verbalised, albeit in a highly provocative manner.

The idea of denying him sent a strange thrill down her spine and she was looking forward to his reaction the next day in class. It was likely that he would ignore her completely. But, deep down, she realised that she liked the fact that she had infuriated him. She had successfully goaded a reaction from him. She had gotten inside his head as much as he had gotten inside her own.

But, as the first light of dawn approached the following morning, she felt antsy with anticipation and nerves. Hermione eased her body into a kneeling position and stretched her neck and her spine to ease the ache that had formed in her joints, bones clicking as she moved. The only light in the room came from the moon outside the window and the small candle burning on her night stand. Both Parvati and Lavender were fast asleep in their beds.

The nervousness that she felt was not unlike the feeling that she had experienced the first time she stepped into Professor Snape's classroom six years ago. She could recall everything about that lesson: the crisp tone to his voice, his blank facial expression, the way his hair framed his face and the way he snarled and bared his teeth when he spoke to Harry. It was almost impossible to believe that she had kissed that same man.

Hermione pushed those thoughts from her head and slipped her nightie over her head.

When the time came, she followed Harry, Neville and Ron into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her eyes were fixed on the floor as she moved, watching the thick cracks snake their way along the stone floor. Hermione positioned herself between Parvati and Neville and tried to conceal the tremble in her hands. He had not yet appeared and the wait was unbearable for Hermione.

'Did you go and see Professor Snape last night?' Parvati asked in a whisper, leaning towards Hermione.

Hermione considered lying to her, but decided that there was no point. Parvati would realise soon enough if he decided to bawl at her publicly in front of the entire class as punishment for the way she had spoken to him and the insults that she had thrown his way. She shook her head.

'Oh, boy. You're in big trouble.'

'That's if he shows up,' said Neville. 'He's ten minutes late.'

Hermione wondered if he was late on purpose, deliberately keeping her on tenterhooks. Her fingernails left deep grooves in the palm of her left hand while her right hand tightly squeezed her quill.

She heard him before she saw him.

His footsteps were thunderous and rapid along the stone floor and Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut as she waited for him to appear in front of his desk.

It was a complete sensory experience of his presence. As he passed in front of their desk, she caught the spicy musk of his scent and held her breathe, forbidding the smell to infiltrate her nostrils and take hold of her. Her heart hammered and her eyes fixed upon him as he towered above the students.

Slowly, but deliberately, his gaze shifted to the side and locked onto that of Hermione.

His eyes narrowed into slits as he looked at her. The urge to break their eye-contact pressed heavily upon her, but she did not lower her eyes and continued to stare at him defiantly. His hands were balled into fists, clenching tightly as he glowered at her.

He was the first to break away.

'Patronuses,' he announced as he stood at the front of the classroom.

Blaise Zabini gave a loud groan.

'But, Professor, we've already _done _Patronuses,' he insisted loudly.

'On the contrary, Blaise, _you _have yet to produce a corporeal Patronus,' their teacher replied testily. He turned to address the entire class. 'Your attempts at producing a verbal Patronus were abysmal...Many of you succeeded only in producing thin wisps of vapour –'

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as he caught sight of the expression on Professor Snape's face. He was in a ruthless mood. It was not that he had chosen to begin the class with criticism, as that was a fairly standard structural part of his lessons, it was the expression emblazoned on his face.

'Needless to say, your non-verbal spells were utterly atrocious,' he continued. 'However, I must ensure that _all_ of you are capable of producing a corporeal Patronus or your chances of passing the N.E.W.T. exam are highly unfavourable. Not that your academic success is a particularly strong concern of mine...I am referring to most of the class when I say that you are weak, lazy and feeble-minded students, who do not deserve to be here.' He shot Harry a nasty look as he spoke. 'My interest lies in the pass-rate and the unfortunate fact that your success will be seen as a reflection of my teaching ability. Imparting knowledge to you lot is often like training a hippogriff to speak...Impossible and futile.'

The class endured another fifteen minutes of disparaging comments on their intelligence and minimal chances of success, before he issued the learning objectives of the day.

'I will go round the class and you will each perform the spell...Failure to produce an adequate Patronus will result in the deduction of House points. Longbottom!' he called. 'You will begin.'

Neville turned to Hermione with a look of utter horror and a whimper.

With a trembling hand, he lifted his wand as Professor Snape strode towards their desk.

His eyes flickered briefly towards Hermione before focusing on Neville's anxious expression. Severus folded his arms in his cloak as he waited.

'Expect...Expecto P – Patronum.'

Nothing happened.

'Five points,' he barked. 'Try again.'

'Expecto Patronum,' he repeated. Neville's voice sounded shaky and unsteady, but he did not stutter.

'Focus on something positive, Neville,' Hermione whispered through gritted teeth.

'Expecto Patronum!'

A thin wisp of silver vapour appeared. Professor Snape tutted loudly.

'Ten points, Mr Longbottom,' he said lazily. 'That's fifteen points in total.'

A groan spread throughout the Gryffindors.

Hermione seethed as she glowered at Professor Snape. She knew that it was an unfair and ineffective method of teaching and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from telling him as much.

'E – Expecta Potronum...oh, no.' Neville ran his hand through his hair as his face turned white.

'Pitiful, Longbottom. Twenty points from Gryffindor for such feeble attempts –'

'You're making him nervous!' interjected Hermione. Her eyes widened as Severus' head snapped round in her direction. 'He knows the spell, he can do it, but not with you breathing down his neck...'

'A further twenty points from Gryffindor. That makes forty. Do not ever try to undermine my teaching again, Miss Granger, or you shall thoroughly regret it.' He leaned in towards her to fix her with a furious glare, before swooping away towards the back of the classroom.

'Let's start from here. Draco, perhaps you could give Mr Longbottom a demonstration...'

From the front of the room, Hermione heard Draco give an incoherent mumble.

'_Again_, Draco,' Professor Snape commanded.

A rumble of discontented outrage spread throughout the Gryffindors.

Severus tutted.

'One point from Slytherin,' he muttered grudgingly.

Harry swore under his breathe, but Professor Snape did not turn round.

After two further attempts, Draco's silver serpent appeared for a fraction of a second before vanishing into thin air.

Professor Snape nodded in acquiescence.

'One point!' whispered Parvati incredulously. 'How unfair is _that_?'

'When was he ever fair?' muttered Hermione as she stared at him over her shoulder.

Gryffindor were one hundred points down by the time Professor Snape got to Hermione. Anger burned within her and she wondered how she would be able to summon a happy memory. Her strongest happiest memories concerned the man whom she most wanted to strangle at that particular moment.

'Well, Miss Granger?'

Hermione closed her eyes and blocked out the sound of his voice and the fury that fumed inside her.

They were back in the clearing of the forest, where they had met after the Christmas holidays. He had patted her gently on the back, but as she pulled the recollection to the forefront of her mind, her imagination started to embellish certain details. His fingers were entwining in her hair, crushing her to him as they had done during their previous embraces. In the neutral setting of the clearing, there were no reminders of the school, their differences or the precarious nature of their situation.

'Expecto Patronum.'

The creature burst from her wand and cantered towards the desk. Its head bowed over the table surface as if examining the paperwork before looking in Hermione's direction.

'A doe!' cried Harry in disbelief.

'A fawn,' snapped Severus insistently.

'I thought your's was an otter, Hermione...' whispered Neville.

Hermione blushed.

'Not anymore, apparently,' she whispered.

The fawn padded towards Hermione, but its hooves halted as it approached Professor Snape. She raised her delicate head and gently sniffed his robes, brushing her head against his midriff. Its legs looked slightly longer; they seemed less bent and knobbly. Her eyes were huge, but her head had grown slightly so she did not look as frail or as young.

Severus did not move, but stared disbelievingly at the silvery creature that nuzzled his robes.

Hermione deliberately dropped her wand onto the floor and the creature vanished.

To hide her burning face, she knelt in front of her desk to retrieve her wand, hoping to miss the expressions of her teacher and her classmates. She kept her eyes rooted to the floor as she rose, ignoring his penetrating stare.

Slowly, she sensed him shift to face Neville and Hermione exhaled heavily.

'Longbottom.' His voice sounded strange and distant. 'Your turn.'

When the bell rang, the students hurried out of the classroom in a flurry of indignation and outrage.

'Can you_ believe_ him?' Harry hissed in her ear as he hurried towards her desk. 'Hurry up, will you? I can't _wait_ to get out of here...'

His elbow clamped tightly around her elbow as she threw her bag over her shoulder. Hermione cast a quick glance over Harry's shoulder to see Severus bent over his desk, examining the documents splayed out on the surface.

'...And to think, I need to spend a whole night with _McLaggen_!'

She did not see him move towards the door. Nor did she see the hand that swept towards the handle. He held the door firmly shut as Harry and Hermione approached.

'Go, Potter.' Severus wrenched the door open several inches and Harry hastily slipped through the small gap, after shooting their teacher a wary glance.

'I – I'll wait for you in the common room,' he mouthed to Hermione.

Hermione crossed her arms and waited as Severus closed the door behind him.

'Colloportus,' he murmured. He slowly raised his eyes to meet her own.

'I take it Miss Patil did not deliver my message?'

'On the contrary,' muttered Hermione. 'She did. But I –'

'Disobeyed.'

'– had no desire to endure another rant..._sir_.'

He took a double-take as she uttered the syllable. She did not remember the last time she had called him 'sir', out with class hours, and neither did he.

'Given the circumstances...It seems only right that we resort to formalities,' she whispered. 'You made yourself perfectly clear.'

'When a teacher demands your presence, you do not take it upon yourself to defy that command. You also failed to appear this morning, despite our agreement that you would work on your potion _every_ morning.'

'What is it that you wanted to say to me?' she asked wearily.

His chest swelled as he glowered at her, but he not speak.

'You had no right to speak to me the way that you did,' he growled. 'That..._name_ that you called me –'

'Coward?'

He slammed his open palm against the wall.

'How _dare_ you!'

Hermione raised her hands in defeat.

'We agreed to drop it...It is foolish to drag this on any longer...'

'That is not for you to decide,' he responded icily.

They glared at each other in mutual silence for several moments.

'I...You were never disposable,' he muttered as his gaze fell to the floor. His hand dropped from the wall and hung limply by his side. 'I didn't...I don't want you think that..._that_ is how I saw you.'

Hermione snorted.

'You are relentless,' he whispered angrily. 'I am trying to...'

Looking up, Hermione saw the discomfort etched on his face and the awkward position of his body and the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Several seconds later, he assumed his usual scowl.

'Never mind,' he growled. 'You may go.'

Hermione resisted the urge to reach out for him.

Clenching her hands into fists, she thrust them into her pockets as he held the door open for her.

* * *

><p>'Where on earth is Harry?' asked Hermione urgently as she craned her neck, scanning the Quidditch pitch for the familiar figure of her friend. Ginny, Cormac, Cootes, Peakes, Dean, and Demelza were visible, along with the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, but she could see no sign of the team's Captain.<p>

It was the day of the Quidditch match and the wind blew cold and strong.

'I think he went to see Ron,' said Parvati as she adjusted her gloves.

'He's going to be _late_,' said Hermione, shaking her head as she watched Madam Hooch impatiently check her watch.

Suddenly, a scarlet-clad figure came scurrying across the pitch from the dressing-room. He looked ruffled and stressed as he ran his hands through his hair.

'Oh, and there's Harry Potter, Gryffindor Captain and Seeker...Being chased by _wrackspurts_, I think, by the looks of things. They seem to like floating inside his head...That's probably why he looks so befuddled...'

'Loony Lovegood!' cried Parvati incredulously with a bark of laughter that grated on Hermione. 'Who, in their right mind, would let her commentate?'

'Don't call her that,' said Hermione with a wince. 'She's nice.'

'She is..._strange_, though,' replied Parvati with raised eyebrows.

'Well...' Hermione shrugged her shoulders as she realised that there was no contesting that point.

Madam Hooch's whistle signalled the beginning of the match and Hermione looked up into the sky.

Cormac was drifting leisurely over the pitch with a confidence that did not befit the substitute Keeper.

'Mind and fly out of the sun, Peakes!' he called across to the Beater.

'Cormac! Must I remind you exactly _who_ the team's Captain is?' shouted Harry. 'And get back to the hoops! If you let that Quaffle shoot past you, I'll –'

'Oh dear, Harry Potter seems to be arguing with Cormac McLaggish...'

'McLaggen!' corrected Professor McGonagall. 'Concentrate on the match, Miss Lovegood!'

'Yes, Professor...and Ginny takes the Quaffle from Zacharias Smith and, oh, yes, she scores!'

A triumphant roar erupted from the Gryffindor stands.

'Smith doesn't look too happy...It looks like he's suffering from Loser's Lurgy.'

'What on earth is _Loser's Lurgy_?' asked Parvati.

Hermione stifled a giggle and shrugged. She looked across at the surrounding stands and saw the familiar form of Professor Snape sitting in the Slytherin stand. Hermione felt a small pang as she looked at him. His head was turned towards the match, but, as if sensing her gaze, his eyes suddenly fell upon her.

The smile had not left her lips as he turned to look at her and Hermione blushed scarlet, dropping her stare to her lap.

She wished she had pressed him further the day before. She wanted to know what he had planned on telling her. Did he regret their agreement?

The sound of resounding applause from the Ravenclaw stands indicated a point gained by the other team.

'McLaggen! Will you _stay_ at your bloody post!' cried Harry.

'Uh-oh, more arguing between the Gryffindor Captain and his Keeper...' remarked Luna. 'Well, not the _real_ Keeper, of course...McLaggish is only standing in for Ginny's brother, Ron...'

Professor McGonagall looked anxiously at Luna, but made no comment, before returning her attention to the match.

Hermione chanced another glance at Severus, who had not taken his eyes off of her. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at him.

'Hermione?' asked Parvati, following her line of vision. 'Who are you staring at?'

'Er – nothing – nobody...'

Parvati continued to look at her curiously and Hermione diverted her gaze to her lap.

'It's over,' she muttered to herself, closing her eyes briefly. 'So, stop it. Nothing ever happened. Nothing will ever happen. Give it up.'

'Harry!'

'Oh my –'

'HARRY!'

'Is he OK?'

'Oh no, Harry!'

'McLaggen, you bloody idiot!'

Hermione rose from the stands to see Cootes and Peakes fly towards a falling figure in the sky.

McLaggen floated in mid-air at the opposite end of the stand, staring in shock as he held one of the Beater's bats.

'What the hell just happened?' asked Hermione in a panic, turning to Parvati.

'McLaggen was showing Peakes how to hit the Bludger and whacked it at Harry. I think it was an accident, but, he's knocked him out...'

Pushing her way along the bench, Hermione hurried onto the pitch towards the descending figures. Harry lay unconscious in Peakes and Cootes arms as they landed gently on the pitch. A huge, purple bruise blossomed on his forehead.

'Out of the way, out of the way!' called Madam Hooch.

Hermione and the Beaters stepped back to allow the Quidditch referee through.

'He'll need to go to the hospital wing,' she announced.

'We'll take him,' said Cootes.

'You need to get back to the game, Cootes,' said Madam Hooch.

'I'll take him, using a Levitation spell,' offered Hermione, withdrawing her wand from her pocket.

Harry's body floated into the air as she cast the spell and she carefully directed him inside the castle. It reminded her vaguely of the time, during her third year, when Sirius had levitated Severus' unconscious form along the tunnel leading out of the Shrieking Shack. Sirius had not taken the same care as Hermione and had made no attempt to manoeuvre Severus' body away from the sharp, protruding rocks.

'Bloody hell, what happened?' asked Ron, sitting up in his bed as he caught sight of the unconscious, floating form of his friend.

'McLaggen knocked him out –' replied Hermione as she lowered Harry onto the vacant bed next to Ron.

Madam Pomfrey came hurrying towards the bed and began to examine Harry's bruised forehead.

'_McLaggen_? How the bloody hell did –'

'_Language_, Mr Weasley,' cried Madam Pomfrey as she smothered a strange, yellow paste onto Harry's forehead.

'He was demonstrating, to one of the Beaters, how to hit the Bludger and, accidentally, aimed it at Harry.'

Ron could barely suppress the look of glee that crossed his face.

'Really, Ron!' cried Hermione crossly. 'One of your friends just got hit in the face and you couldn't look happier...Will he be alright?' she asked Madam Pomfrey.

'Of course, he will. But I think it would be best to keep him in over the rest of the weekend. He'll be sore when he wakes up, but most of the bruising should go down by tomorrow afternoon.'

'See! He'll be fine...'

'Why do you look so pleased with yourself?' asked Hermione as she lowered herself into the chair next to his bed.

'Well, now that McLaggen's messed up so badly, there's no chance he'll be kept on as Keeper!' exclaimed Ron with a cheerful grin. 'I was worried he'd be brilliant and that I'd get the boot. No chance of that now, though.'

Hermione smiled grudgingly with a shake of her head.

'You are terrible, Ronald.'

'What did you think of the commentary?' he asked eagerly. But, before she could answer, Ron launched into an enthusiastic review of Luna's commentary. 'I was in stitches..._Loser's Lurgy_...She's mental, that one,' said Ron jovially.

'Professor McGonagall certainly seemed to regret her choice...' said Hermione.

'And did you hear her call him 'McLaggish'? I was killing myself...McLaggish...He'll never live that one down...'

Hermione spent the rest of the day by Ron's side, slagging off McLaggen and discussing the match.

'Harry was late for the match...He almost missed kick-off,' said Hermione, after they had exhausted the finer details of the match. 'How long did he spend with you?'

'Really? He left here early enough...' Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You don't think he was trailing after Malfoy again, do you?'

Hermione groaned.

'Probably, I wouldn't be surprised...

'Honestly, to risk missing a Quidditch match to follow Malfoy! He's borderline obsessed. Someone should take that bloody map away from him.'

'Well, we'll see what he has to say for himself when he wakes up,' she said, casting a glance towards Harry's sleeping form.

At nine o'clock, Madam Pomfrey reappeared to usher Hermione out of the hospital wing and, with a wave, she left Ron and the unconscious Harry behind her.

The corridors were dark as the candles burnt low and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm, quickening her pace. She felt exhausted by the events of the match and the myriad of thoughts rushing through her mind. Rubbing her eyes wearily, Hermione hurrieed along the corridor that led to Gryffindor Tower. The thought of a hot bath was a pleasant one as she shivered in the castle's cool breeze.

Suddenly, the familiar black-clad figure of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher appeared at the other end of the corridor. Hermione looked to her side, searching for a hidden corridor or a short-cut that would allow her to avoid walking past the man she most wanted to avoid.

But, before she could escape, he took several long strides towards her.

'How is Potter?'

Hermione blinked several times in bewilderment. She could not believe her ears.

'Pardon?'

'Potter,' he repeated irritably. He shifted from one foot to the other. 'I saw him fall at the match. I trust he is..._unharmed_?'

Hermione nodded.

'A bit bruised and slightly bashed. But he'll live.'

'What happened to him?'

'The substitute Keeper hit him with a Bludger.'

Severus failed to conceal the smirk that surfaced on his face.

Hermione bristled in anger.

'If that's all, Professer?' she asked haughtily and made to walk past him.

'Are _you_ OK?'

Hermione halted and turned to face him.

She was unable to resist the urge to give him a small smile and a nod.

He looked at her intensely as she spoke:

'I'm fine. But, then again, I haven't just been smacked in the face by a flying iron ball...'

He did not smile this time, but his gaze did not shift from her face.

'I wanted to tell you,' he began. 'What I wanted to say, yesterday, was...'

Hermione looked at him through wide eyes, waiting in anticipation.

Severus stared at her softly before clearing his throat.

'I like your new Patronus...very much, in fact.'


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

_I like your new Patronus...very much, in fact._

His words circled around and around her mind as she made her way to the common room.

She had been too shocked to a conjure a coherent response and, with an awkward nod of her head, Hermione had hastily stumbled past him without a backwards glance.

This time, she did not decide to eagerly throw herself back into his arms. She knew that it would only last a short while until he pushed her away once more. She allowed herself the smallest glimmer of hope that he was now able to push aside his doubts and concerns, but she knew him too well to believe him capable of dismissing the guilt and the shame that he felt. Hermione could not blame for his reluctance and doubt. But it was exhausting to keep up with the sudden, dramatic change of heart that he seemed to experience periodically.

Part of her was thrilled that it was not over despite the fact that the 'it' that they shared had not yet been fully established. The other part was left confused, bewildered and drained at the intensity of her feelings and the ever-changing nature of his actions.

'I should have said something to him,' she muttered under her breath as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung forward to admit her.

_I like your new Patronus...very much, in fact._

In a rather uncharacteristic fashion, Hermione opted to spend the following day in her bed.

'C'mon, Hermione. It's well past lunchtime, aren't you getting up?' asked Parvati.

The response that Parvati received was an incoherent groan, coming from the lumpy heap under the burgundy duvet.

'What was that?'

'It'sss Sssunday,' Hermione slurred.

'Yes, but you can't stay in bed all day! It's almost four o'clock!'

Through narrowed eyes, cemented with rheum, Hermione peered at the watch on her night-stand.

She had slept through most of the day and only a couple of hours remained until the Hogwarts house-elves would be serving dinner.

Parvati rolled her eyes before marching towards the dormitory door.

Groggily, Hermione righted herself and untangled her body from the cocoon of her duvet. Harry and Ron were to be released from the hospital wing the next day and Hermione was eager to hear what Harry had to say about his late arrival on the day of the match. Without their presence at the Gryffindor table, she had no real desire to sit in the presence of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and experience the awkward tension that lay between them.

_I like your new Patronus...very much, in fact._

The memory conjured a small smile on her lips, but the happy moment was ruined by the recollection of her abrupt departure and her refusal to reply.

Hermione rubbed her face with her hands. She knew that she had behaved sensibly if she truly wished to lessen the pain and turmoil that their relationship caused her. But, deep down, the irrational and illogical part of her knew perfectly well that she would not willingly let go of the feelings she felt for him.

* * *

><p>'<em>Harry<em>! You didn't!' cried Hermione in outrage as her hands flew to her mouth. 'It's one thing that you haven't freed Kreacher, but to enlist Dobby as your spy –'

Harry raised his hands and opened his mouth to argue.

'In my defence, Hermione, it was _Dumbledore_ who said that we can't free Kreacher. He knows too much, plus it would kill him to leave that house...'

'If only we _could_ free him,' muttered Ron darkly as he reached for the sugar bowl and began sifting its contents onto his porridge.

'But, _Dobby_?'

'He offered!' insisted Harry. 'Blimey, Hermione...' He turned to Ron and shook his head. 'I've been out of hospital for one minute and she's already bearing down on me...'

Ron gave him a quick grin before glimpsing Hermione's livid expression and turned back to the task of spreading sugar over his breakfast.

'After all the effort you went to free him, you now have him doing _your_ dirty work! And to make him dish the dirt on his former master is just plain cruel! You know how difficult that must be for him!'

'In all fairness, Hermione, Dobby was adamant about helping,' said Ron as he continued to pour an increasingly large mound of sugar granules over his oats.

'Regardless,' she sniffed as she shot a glance at Ron. Her eyes widened as she suddenly reached forward and grabbed his elbow. 'Honestly, Ron, do you _want_ to lose all of your teeth before you're twenty?'

'Sorry, Mum,' he muttered with a scowl, replacing the almost-empty sugar bowl on the table.

'Anyway,' she said, turning to Harry. 'It's a _ridiculous_ task you've set them up to.'

'I need to find out what Malfoy's doing, Hermione. I'm not getting anywhere on my own. I _need_ their help.'

Hermione continued to glower at him.

'I mean...he must be up to something, why else was he sneaking around the castle on his own while everyone else was at the match?' asked Harry.

'Well...' began Ron sheepishly.

Hermione and Harry turned to look at him.

'You _did_ say that he was with two girlfriends...'

'So?' snapped Harry.

'So, it hardly seems likely that he'd be up to any dangerous, illicit. Death Eater activities with two _girls_ by his side...I doubt they're smart enough to –'

Ron caught sight of Hermione expression and blushed a furious shade of red.

'No, I don't mean – Not that girls can't...I just mean...You're different, Hermione. There aren't any girls in Slytherin who are intelligent enough to assist in whatever it is he's trying to pull off...I can hardly imagine Millicent Bulstrode or Pansy Parkinson acting as particularly useful partners in crime...'

Hermione smirked and punched him gently on the arm.

'It wasn't Millicent,' said Harry thoughtfully. 'Or Pansy, for that matter.'

'If it was Crabbe or Goyle, I'd agree that he might have been up to something dodgy...But, if it was two girls that he was with, he was probably just looking to get off with one, or both, of them,' said Ron as he stirred the sugar into his porridge.

'I agree with Ron,' said Hermione. 'You know what Malfoy's like – he wouldn't have two girls as his accomplices.'

'Crabbe and Goyle...' murmured Harry as he stared at the wall behind Ron's head. 'That's a thought...'

Ron and Hermione shared bewildered expressions.

'What's a thought?'

'Nothing' he said, jumping up from the table suddenly. 'I have to go, I'll catch you later!'

On that note, Harry bolted from the Great Hall.

'What the bloody hell was that about?' asked Ron.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but stopped as the entire table was thrown into shadow. She did not have to look round to discern that the figure, who stood behind her, belonged to Lavender Brown and Hermione awaited the trembling tearful tone of her classmate's voice. It was just her luck that the blonde-haired Gryffindor would catch her on her own with Ron.

She gritted her teeth in preparation for the avalanche of hysterical accusations and abuse.

'Miss Granger.'

Those three syllables raised a host of goosebumps along her arms and she turned slightly on the bench so that she was addressing the polished tips of his shoes.

'Sir?'

'Might I ask you _what_ you are doing?'

'Having breakfast, sir.'

'Yes, so it would seem. Yet while you leisurely enjoy your breakfast, your potion sits abandoned in my classroom. Have you completely disowned this project?'

Hermione's face burned scarlet. Given the awkward nature of their relationship, she hadn't given her potion a second's thought.

'I'm sorry, sir. Shall I head down just now?' she asked without looking at him.

'I have a class in thirty minutes,' he replied sharply. 'You will come this evening.'

He stalked past her and Hermione caught a brief glimpse of his billowing robes as he exited the hall.

'I certainly don't envy you. All that extra time with Snape, I'd probably chuck myself off the Astronomy Tower,' muttered Ron.

'Tell me about it,' she murmured miserably as she drained her glass of pumpkin juice.

Harry appeared moments later, clutching a blank piece of parchment, which could only be the Marauders' Map.

'Left it upstairs,' he muttered. 'Malfoy isn't at breakfast though! I saw it on the map.'

'Well, _I_ could have told you that,' retorted Hermione with a roll of her eyes. 'We saw him leave for class several minutes ago.'

'That's if he _has_ gone to class,' said Harry. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good...'

'You've certainly got that right,' muttered Hermione darkly. 'Oh, there's Luna.'

Luna Lovegood merrily skipped towards their table, her earrings jingling noisily as she did so.

'Hello, everyone. How are you, Harry? You're looking well!' she exclaimed. 'It was lucky that those Beaters caught you – I'm surprised you don't have a lump the size of a Dirigible plum...It looked like McLaggish really walloped you with that Bludger.'

'He did,' said Harry through gritted teeth, who had spent several hours cursing the dismissed Keeper upon his awakening.

'McLaggish,' repeated Ron with a chuckle. 'Great commentary, Luna, by the way. I really enjoyed it.'

'No, you didn't. Everyone said I was rubbish. McGonagall won't let me commentate for the next match,' said Luna morosely.

'Oh, no!' insisted Ron. 'I thought you were really funny. "Loser's Lurgy" – that was brilliant.'

Luna smiled as she reached into her robes.

'By the way, Harry. Professor Dumbledore asked me to give this to you,' she said, handing him a small envelope.

'Excellent, Luna. Thank you,' Harry replied eagerly as he hastily tore open the seal.

'Anyway, I'd best be off! Toodle-pip!'

'She's great, so she is,' said Ron cheerily. 'Barking mad, mind you...'

'I've to go to Dumbledore's tonight,' said Harry, skimming through the letter.

'But you've not got Slughorn's memory!'

'Yeah, I'll just tell him that I couldn't get it.'

Hermione frowned as she placed her knife and fork on her plate.

'I don't imagine he'll be best pleased with you, Harry. You've hardly over-exerted yourself...'

'I asked once and he blew up. Then, Ron got poisoned and I got put in hospital...I've been very busy, Hermione.'

'Well, don't say I didn't warn you.'

'I'll try again over the week,' he replied as they rose from the table. 'Maybe, tonight, I can ask him about where he keeps disappearing off to...'

'Ron! You're out!'

Lavender Brown stood between the open doors of the Great Hall, ashen and open-mouthed.

'I – sorry, I must've forgotten to mention it...'

'Let's go,' murmured Harry, pulling Hermione's sleeve. She did not need to be told twice and they hastily scurried past Lavender.

Neither Ron nor Lavender appeared for their Transfiguration lesson.

Or their Charms lesson.

Or their Potions lesson.

'What do you think has happened?' asked Hermione as she moved towards Harry's desk at the end of their Potions period. It had been a theoretical Potions lesson and so there had been no chance for the Prince to shine, for which, Hermione was glad.

'Well, if he has done the right thing, he'll have broken up with her. If he has been a spineless git, he'll have spent most of the morning snogging her face off in an abandoned classroom.'

'Thanks for that image...He should've told her that he was getting out today,' groaned Hermione.

'Well, it is his problem,' replied Harry irritably. 'He should just dump her instead of leading her on and creating more drama. These past few days have been an utter nightmare with her and McLaggen nipping at me...Her prattling on about Ron's feelings and him going on about replacing Ron permanently.'

Hermione chuckled slightly.

'He has certainly blotted his copybook there. Have you spoken to him since the match?'

Harry shook his head.

'I think if I lay eyes on him, I'll probably choke the bastard.'

'Oh, Harry,' she said with a reproving swat.

'He's totally gubbed our chances of winning the Cup...'

'I admit he should have apologised to you as soon as you woke up,' continued Hermione. 'Mind you, he's probably far too ashamed of himself...It certainly won't be forgotten any time soon.'

'Maybe his enormous head will have deflated slightly...I'm surprised he even made it into the changing-rooms with a head that size.'

Hermione grinned up at him as they exited the Potions classroom.

'Here, you've got ink on your face,' she muttered as she spotted the black smear on his cheek. Hermione raised her hand and roughly swiped the stain with her thumb.

'Ouch! Be _gentle_.'

'It won't come off,' she said, rubbing the smudge with extra vigour. 'How did you get ink on your face anyway?'

'It's that cheap, leaky quill!'

'Well, buy another one.'

'When? We're not allowed to go to Hogsmeade. The only time we're allowed to leave the castle is for Order meetings...Ahh, be _careful_! I don't need another scar, thank you very much,' he said with a wince.

'Oh, stop it, you big wuss. You could always order another one. Flourish and Blotts have an owl order service.'

'Yeah, yeah...ouch!..._Hermione_.'

'Oh, don't be such a baby,' she laughed. 'Honestly, you _men_...'

The duo were stopped in their tracks by the towering figure of Professor Snape.

She had done nothing wrong. She knew that there was no reason for her not to be laughing with her friend. But as Hermione glanced at the burning expression on his face, she removed her hand from Harry's face and inched away from him.

'Sir,' she said politely with a slight nod.

He did not return her smile or her greeting and continued to stare at her.

Harry looked curiously at Hermione before turning back to face Professor Snape. His sudden movement caused Severus' head to snap round in the direction of his least favourite student.

With the faintest trace of a grimace, he strode past them and marched towards the opposite end of the corridor.

'What's his problem?'

'No idea,' murmured Hermione in response as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

'How is your dissertation coming along anyway? I can't imagine what it's like having to deal with_ him_ every evening...'

'Yeah, it's going OK,' she replied vaguely.

Ron and Lavender were sitting side-by-side on the bench as they approached the Gryffindor table.

'Where on earth have you been?' asked Harry as he squeezed into the space between Ron and Seamus Finnigan. Harry pretended to ignore the dirty look that Seamus gave him as he sat down. Hermione realised that their Irish classmate had not entirely forgiven Harry for not appointing him as Katie Bell's replacement on the Quidditch team.

Hermione chose to sit on the opposite side of the table and focused intently on the task of piling roast beef sandwiches onto her plate. She felt a surge of guilt as she realised that she had spend very little thought on Katie Bell over the past several months. Professor McGonagall issued occasional updates on her health and it was very likely that she would make a full recovery, but it had been a close call.

'We went for a walk around the grounds,' replied Ron as he wolfed down the crusts of his sandwich.

Lavender, it seemed, did not share his appetite as she sat silently and unsmiling by his side. Although she doubted that their relationship had ended, Hermione guessed that they had not yet resolved their problems.

Ron, also, seemed slightly subdued, but he happily contributed to Harry's discussion about Quidditch and their chances of winning the Quidditch Cup at the end of the year. Knowing that McLaggen had well and truly ruined his chances of returning, and given his recovery, it seemed that Ron was eager to reclaim his status as Gryffindor Keeper and lead the team to victory.

'Ronald,' said Lavender suddenly, cutting through Harry's monologue on tactics. She rose to her feet and looked down at him expectantly. 'I'm going to Professor Trelawney's. Are you coming?'

Ron looked wistfully at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands and made a reluctant groan.

Lavender huffed loudly.

'You promised me that you'd come with me to help her move her crystal balls from her office to her classroom, remember?'

Harry snorted loudly and sprayed his lap with pumpkin juice.

'I know that I did...' he began hesitantly. 'But..._why_ do I need to come again?'

'Because I'm your girlfriend and I asked you to and you said that you would go with me! She'd be really grateful for the help.'

'Why can't she use magic to move them? I don't fancy carrying boxes of bloody crystal balls up those ropey ladders!'

Lavender rolled her eyes as if he had asked a particularly ludicrous question.

'Professor Trelawney says that they can't be handled with magic. It interferes with the power that they hold, so they have to be carried the Muggle way.'

Hermione felt her forehead crease as she considered Lavender's outburst and was sorely tempted to dispute her comment. But she had a slight inkling that her input would not be particularly appreciated.

'Fine,' muttered Ron as he drained his goblet and followed Lavender out of the Great Hall. 'It's not like I dropped Divination for a _reason_.'

'Bloody idiot,' said Harry with a shake of his head as he watched them leave.

'It's not fair of him to keep her hanging on when he doesn't want to go out with her any more,' said Hermione sagely as she poured another glass of juice.

'I don't understand why he didn't just dump her! The sooner he gets shot of her, the better.'

'I agree.'

Harry's gaze shifted in her direction and Hermione looked up questioningly.

'What?'

'Nothing,' said Harry. But he did not turn away. 'What do you think will happen? When he eventually grows a pair and ends it, I mean.'

'Well, hopefully, he'll be a bit happier and we won't have to put up with them snogging in front of us every day,' replied Hermione.

'Do you think he'll get another girlfriend?'

Hermione shrugged.

'Probably, in time, when he meets someone he likes.'

'Do you think he does like someone? Someone else.'

Hermione eyed him curiously; he seemed to be watching her closely as if waiting for her to make some expression or movement that would expose some hitherto unknown fact.

'Are you implying something?' she asked suspiciously.

'No, well, it's just...' he began awkwardly, pushing his glasses further towards the bridge of his nose. 'I kind of thought that it would be _you_, who he'd go after, y'know? Especially after all that awkwardness in fourth year with the Yule Ball and Viktor Krum.'

'Oh, Merlin, no!' said Hermione, scrunching her face up at the thought. 'I love Ron, I do. But...not in that way. He's my friend, the same as you. I really do not see him in that way at all...I doubt he sees me like that, either...'

'I wouldn't be so sure,' said Harry as he tore the crust from his sandwich. 'Is there someone else you like?'

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. For the briefest of seconds, she imagined revealing the truth about her love interest and the look of horror on his face. But, in reality, she settled for a smile and a shake of the head.

'Nope. No one.'

'I just thought...seeing as your Patronus has changed that that might have something to do with it. Y'know, like Tonks' Patronus?'

'I honestly have no idea, Harry,' she lied as she halved her sandwich.

'A fawn...' he mused. 'I wonder what it represents. Do you think it could have anything to do with Professor Trelawney's vision about our friendship and...what was it? You being the closest female to my heart? Or whatever it was that Dumbledore said...Not romantically, obviously. But as a friendship thing. I mean...it might have something to do with Voldemort.'

'Oh, Harry, honestly! Perhaps it's you who should be helping Professor Trelawney if you believe in her so much. Despite what the Headmaster says, I really doubt that there's anything in it,' said Hermione as her voice dropped to a whisper. 'I know she made the genuine prophecy between you and..._him_, but I don't think we need concern ourselves with everything she says. At the end of the day, he only went after you when you were a baby _because_ of the prophecy. Divination and Seeing are such a nebulous areas of magic...Some would even go so far as to call it _fraud_. Besides, I might be your best female friend, but it's Ginny who's the closest girl to your heart. He may not know that, but it's true.'

'Shhh,' hissed Harry urgently as he flushed scarlet. 'Don't say that aloud.'

Hermione rolled her eyes as he glared at her.

'I meant that, well, my Patronus is a stag and your's is now a fawn. Who else do we know with a similar Patronus?'

She shrugged in response, knowing full well the answer.

'My dad's was a stag and my mother's was a doe, but, they're dead so it's not really relevant...'

Hermione smiled gently at him and reached forward to squeeze his wrist.

'It's funny that their Patronuses were the same...That's what I like about magic. Y'know that magic can pick up on that kind of connection you share with someone.'

Harry's gaze drifted along the table and Hermione spotted Ginny's red hair several spaces down the table as she tossed her head back and laughed at something Dean had whispered in her ear.

'What?' asked Harry. 'Oh, yeah...I suppose, it is.' He turned to face Hermione and grimaced at the sympathetic expression on her face. 'I take it I haven't been too subtle about it, then?'

'I've not mentioned it to anyone,' she said solemnly.

'So, Ron hasn't twigged?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Good,' he said with a brisk nod of his head. 'I just...Never mind. I'd better head off...I might try again with Slughorn before my meeting with Dumbledore tonight.'

Hermione spent most of her afternoon working on her dissertation in the library. The end of the school year seemed closer and closer and Hermione was beginning to feel alarmed by the minimal progress that she had made.

Professor Snape lost no time that evening in revealing that he shared her concern.

'A mere few months lie between now and the deadline for the hand-in of, both, your dissertation and your potion. I confess myself rather..._troubled_ by the current stages of this project. I had hoped that, by now, the potion would have been bottled and sealed and that we would be focusing on refining your dissertation,' he said.

Hermione bristled at his comment.

'It's not entirely _my_ fault that we are so behind.'

'I think you will find that is _you_, not _we_,' he growled, 'who is behind.'

'I've put my all into this potion and if it hadn't been for you smashing one of the cauldrons, I'd probably be slightly more ahead of the game,' she retorted.

'Do not forget, Hermione, that _you_ botched the first potion. Perhaps if you had spend less time coddling those two idiots you insist on associating with, you would not be finding yourself in your current predicament,' he snapped.

'What on earth do Harry and Ron have to do with it?' she asked, folding her arms.

He did not give her a response, but continued to glower at her.

She sighed and let her arms fall to her side as she took a step towards him.

'Let's just get on with the potion, shall we?'

He stared at her with a curious expression on her face before turning his back on her, which Hermione took to be his consent, and began rifling through the cabinets beside his desk.

Hermione worked in silence as he busied himself at his desk and let her thoughts flow free and uninhibited through her mind. She could not help but feel a fleeting sensation of satisfaction at the glimmer of jealousy he had shown. She did not want to repeat the mistakes that she had made again and again with the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but her feelings for him seemed only to have grown in intensity and she took hope from the fact that his own interest had not diminished.

'Give it one more stir,' he commanded.

Hermione lifted her head to look at him.

'Sorry?'

'Stir it again,' he insisted.

'But the textbook says –'

'Ignore what the textbook says. Do as your teacher says. Stir.'

Hesitantly, she did as she was bid and, to her surprise, the potion turned several shades lighter.

'How did –'

'There are certain tricks and techniques that can produce a more effective and long-lasting potion, which the writers of the textbook fail to include or simply aren't aware of.'

Hermione was forcibly reminded of Harry's copy of the textbook and the previous owner's annotations.

'How do you know them?'

He eyed her sternly.

'I happen to have a great deal of experience in potion-making along with a natural...aptitude.'

'But surely those who wrote the textbook would be equally, if not more, competent, given that they're writing a book to instruct others in the same field? They should know all of the tricks of the trade,' replied Hermione.

'I happen to be more adept than most Potions Masters,' he replied in a tone that did not lack haughtiness.

'Perhaps, you should've written the textbook...' she muttered cheekily.

But he only smiled in response.

'Perhaps, I should have.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and began reading the next instruction. She did not notice the suspicious expression on his face.

'By the way,' he began slowly. 'There is something I have been meaning to ask you...'

Her heart-rate quickened as she looked up at him and a sense of nervousness and fear began to coil in her stomach.

'Oh?'

'Curiously enough, every time I have the supreme pleasure of Professor Slughorn's company in the staffroom, he never fails to offer his..._congratulations_ on producing such a skilled potioneer.'

Hermione blanched.

'I believe I asked you before, but you have yet to give me a response. How is it that Mr Potter's abilities have somehow surpassed every member of your class and –'

'I don't know, Severus,' she replied wearily.

His eyes narrowed.

'Indeed, Professor Slughorn has taken to calling him the "Prince of Potions",' he continued, 'any thoughts as to how he has reached this new level of proficiency in the subject? I will not snub or criticise the talent of my colleagues, but I find it somewhat difficult to attribute this new-found dexterity to Horace's teaching.'

'Honestly, I don't know. I haven't had much time to speak to him. Perhaps he's –'

'You seemed to find ample time to talk this morning as you scampered along the corridor, giggling and cosying up to him.'

Hermione scowled at him and opened her mouth to retort. At that moment, she deeply resented Harry as it was his back she was covering. If Severus knew of his textbook, her friend would certainly find himself in a sticky situation with the risk of expulsion.

'We were talking about Patronuses,' she said dryly. 'As for his skill in Potions, it seems that Slughorn has taken a shine to him. I really do not know...Perhaps, he's applying himself more this year...' she added hesitantly, knowing full well that what she was saying was far from the truth.

He snorted.

'If his Defence Against the Dark Arts work is testament to the time spent on his studies, I can safely say that he has put in no additional effort.'

Hermione shrugged and prayed that he would drop the subject of the Harry and his status in the Potions class.

'What did he have to say about Patronuses?' he asked suddenly.

'He asked why mine has changed,' she replied.

'I see...What did you tell him?'

'I told him that I didn't know...He reckons it might have something to do with what Professor Trelawney and the Headmaster have said.' Hermione gave him the abridged version of the conversation that they had shared during lunch that afternoon. 'I mean...I don't think there's anything in it. Divination is a very..._woolly_ discipline. I can see where he's coming from, after all, Patronuses don't necessarily represent a romantic love. His dad's Patronus was a stag and, although his mother's was a doe, Harry's Patronus is also a stag like his dad...'

Professor Snape jerked suddenly at her words and knocked the pot of ink by his elbow onto the floor.

'...I don't know,' she continued, 'Patronuses are such a complex area of magic, it's hard to fully fathom the links between the Patronus and their owner and their relationship with another person. I'm happy for him to be of that conclusion than to consider any other possibilities. Are you alright?' she asked as she spotted the pool of ink spreading along the floor.

Severus cursed under his breath and hastily removed the mess with a muttered spell. Hermione watched him curiously.

'I take it you didn't get along with Harry's dad?' she asked quietly.

Severus sat back in his chair and looked at her with a slight frown.

'No, I did not,' he uttered quietly.

'What about Lily, his mum?'

Hermione expected another scowl, she could not understand the expression that surfaced on his face.

'I knew her,' he said.

'Did you and her not get along either?'

'You'll need to give the potion three counter-clockwise stirs,' he said abruptly.

Hermione nodded as she glanced briefly at the textbook. She wanted to ask more about his childhood, but she had an inkling that he was in no mood to reminisce.

The evening passed in silence and Hermione frantically wracked her brains for a thought on how to fill it. Her questions were met with short, brusque answers that did not evoke discussion or, even, debate. He seemed more silent and reticent and she regretted bringing up the subject of Harry's dad, who he clearly hated as much as Sirius. She could still remember the fury in his eyes at the end of their third year upon discovering Sirius' escape, which she had had a hand in, and the burning glare that he gave Harry when he criticised him for being exactly like his father. Any mention of the duo invoked nothing but anger.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered eventually as he peered into the cauldron.

'For what?'

'Mentioning Harry's parents, I think I may have...'

He raised his hand to silence her.

'I'm tired, Hermione, that's all. These past few months have been very wearing.'

'That makes me feel even _worse_,' she murmured. 'I...haven't exactly made things any easier for you...Not that you're entirely blameless...A lot of the time, you brought it upon yourself.'

Severus glowered at her and opened his mouth to argue.

'I'm not trying to cause a fight,' she said, holding her hands up. 'I'm only saying...I just...I'm glad you like my Patronus.'

His glower shifted to a smirk and Hermione stepped towards him.

'Indeed...'

He inched towards her so that their bodies were pressed against each other in spite of their thick robes.

'Lower your head,' she whispered.

'I do not think that this is the best idea,' he murmured, but as he spoke, his neck bent forward and several strands of hair slipped over his face. Hermione reached up and pushed them back and gently pressed her lips to her own. For several seconds, he gently moved his lips against her own, gently and tenderly. She took hold of his hands, linking her fingers through his own, enjoying the feel of the rough callouses on his palms and joints. He squeezed her hands as his tongue swept along her bottom lip and pushed into her mouth. Hermione gripped it between her lips and sucked hard, pulling his tongue further into her mouth. He loosened his left hand to grasp the back of her neck as his tongue circled her own.

Gently, he ended their kiss and gently bumped his nose against her own.

'I can't believe that I'm doing this,' he murmured.

'Don't think about it,' she begged. 'Please.'

Hermione nudged his nose and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

'You make me happy, Severus.'

'It is so easy for me to forget how old you are,' he whispered against her lips. 'When you're here talking about your interests, your ambitions, your life, it is so easy to forget that you are a seventeen year old girl.' He pushed his mouth against her own as he spoke, gently nipping her lip with his teeth. 'I am your teacher...'

'Shh, please, Severus.' Hermione placed her hands on his chest. He did not push her off, but, equally, he did not embrace her.

Beseechingly, she looked into his face.

'Please, don't do this again.'

He took a slight step backwards and Hermione's heart sank.

'I'm sorry, it can't –'

'You, coward,' she whispered. 'You utter _coward_. I can't believe I fell for it again!' she hissed, pulling away from him.

'I think we can dispense with the melodrama,' he snapped, taking another step away from her.

'I may be seventeen, but the only immaturity that I have shown, with regard to this relationship, is my childish belief that one day you'll stop pushing me away and – and actually just..._grow a pair_, instead of your never-ending cycle of kissing me and then retreating as fast you can.'

His eyes widened as he looked at her, but he did not speak. He rubbed his hand against his mouth as if trying to erase the kiss that they had shared moments ago.

'I'll be here tomorrow morning, Severus, to work on my dissertation,' she continued coldly. 'If you're so serious about your job and your reputation, you won't be here. I will not jeopardise my studies for someone who won't do the same for me.'

Hermione gathered her bag to her chest and strode towards the door.

'You cannot expect me to place everything on the line for you,' he snarled as he advanced towards her.

'You're right, I cannot. But I had hoped that you would've treated me a little bit better...as your equal and not as something at your disposal.'

'You're not...I do not think of you as such...'

Hermione snorted.

'But, it is clear that I do not rate very highly in your estimations if the way you treat me is anything to go by.'

'Miss Granger, come here –'

His command was thrown at the heavy wooden door, which she slammed in his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this fanfic. I sincerely hope that you are enjoying these latest instalments. The pace is very slow (and I am dying to post some of the later chapters) but, for now, Severus needs some time to overcome his misgivings and come to terms with these strange, unbidden feelings. xXx**


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